


the world they'd have you build

by badforme



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, False pretenses that our narrator comes to quickly regret, Gen, POV First Person, Robot/Human Relationship, Slightly unreliable narrator, Slow Burn, alternate sole survivor - Freeform, robot/human friendship, shaky ethics and questionable life choices, shaun is her godson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badforme/pseuds/badforme
Summary: Years before the war, Veracity Jones picked a fight she couldn’t win with CIT (though she went down swinging). Now she’s crawled out of the freezer to find that their heirs in the Institute have fucked with the closest thing to a family she’s ever known, and she’s out vengeance. Or she would be, if she only knew where to start looking. Her attempt at an investigation isn't going well when she crosses paths with Nick Valentine, and he might just be the ticket to some answers.
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine
Comments: 48
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

There are a few things in life that you just understand in your bones without a single word needing to be said. When the sheriff comes to knock at your door, solemn and eyes cast down; when friends and colleagues won’t meet your eyes; when endless phone calls go unreturned.

When on a crisp, cloudless autumn day an entire neighborhood suddenly empties and flows to the hills.

I’d taken my godson Shaun out for a walk in his little rocketship-print stroller, planning on a nice trip to the nearby orchard where the late-season apples were still hanging in the trees. He wouldn’t remember it when he was grown, but the fresh air was good for him, and Codsworth would be delighted to turn whatever I brought back into applesauce for the boy.

Nora hadn’t quite asked me to babysit that night, but I knew that she planned on taking Nate out dancing after his speech at the Veteran’s hall. While she was comfortable enough with her new Mr. Handy to let him watch over her son for a few hours at a time, she was wary of letting him get too used to having his every need attended by a robot. So I’d left my workshop in the hands of my foreman and made the drive down to Sanctuary Hills with an overnight bag.

It was still in my car, and it would stay there for over two hundred years.

I wasn't even out of the neighborhood with Shaun when the panic started. Between one breath and another I knew what must have happened. The United States had been flirting with the specter of atomic war since even before Shaun’s grandparents had been born, and every year since I could remember we’d danced a little closer and closer to the edge.

Without pausing to think, I scooped him out of his stroller and legged it towards the Vault up on the hill. Its proximity had been part of why Nora and her husband had bought their home here shortly after she’d become pregnant – although they didn’t finalize their paperwork with Vault-Tec until well after Shaun’s birth.

Before Nora asked me to be her son’s godmother, I’d always thought that if it came to nuclear war I’d just let the bombs take me. But with Shaun in my arms, standing on that platform braced against the shockwave of detonation – I was glad that Nora had made me sign the paperwork. Glad that Nate had insisted on us all practicing drills for what to do if this day ever did come. Shaun had been wailing nonstop from the moment I’d started running, but I knew one day he’d be grateful for the refuge this vault provided.

I tried not to think about all those who were unlucky enough to be trapped on the surface. How many millions were already dead? Had Nora and Nate followed the plan, and made it here ahead of me?

When the elevator arrived at the bottom of the shaft, I scanned the anxious crowd for the faces of my friends. I tall enough to see over the sea of heads, but panic was finally finding its grip on me and my vision began to swim. I couldn’t see them, and I think I might’ve collapsed then if I hadn’t caught caught Nate’s voice, from the other side of the room.

“Honey, what if they didn’t make it? What if they were too far away, when the sirens started? It was my idea to meet up here, I should hav--”

I tried to shove through the crowd, both arms curling Shaun protectively to my chest. He only cried louder.

Nora must have recognized Shaun’s cry over the din, though, because she turned from her husband then to look straight at me. In just a moment, she’d woven through the crowd and to my side.

“You’re here,” she said, pulling Shaun from my arms and holding him tightly. “You made it. I knew you would, but I...” her voice trailed off, and I reached out for her shoulder.

Nate caught up to us then, and just pulled his wife and son close to his chest. There was a shake in his shoulders that I’d never seen before, but I didn’t have a chance to talk to him before the vault staff were shepherding us through the halls.

Looking back on it, I think I was still in a state of shock as I put on the suit I’d been handed and climbed into what I’d been told was a decontamination pod. I should have known something was wrong from how cold the place was, should have known it couldn’t have possibly been decontamination. But panic and terror are tricky things, and it was so easy to let the calm people in charge tell me that it would all be fine, if I just did what they said.

When _hadn't_ that kind of thinking lead me wrong? I’d just obeyed, without even looking back at Nora, or Nate, or even Shaun. I was so convinced I’d see them again, safe and healthy, in just a few minutes.

I remember waking, briefly – remember seeing figures through frosted glass, remember a gunshot. It wasn’t until I woke next that I put the confused scene together in my head.

Someone had forced open Nate’s pod, murdered him, and stolen Shaun. Every other pod save for my own had malfunctioned, the occupants having all asphyxiated.

I like to imagine that Nora, having been in the pod next to Nate’s hadn’t had the viewing angle to see what’d happened to him. That she died painlessly, without knowing what had happened to her family. I wasn’t so lucky as her, though.

I had survived.

-

The first week I spent on the surface isn’t something I like to think about. I hadn’t gone directly back to Sanctuary Hills; after all, what was likely to be there? All the human remains I’d seen outside of the cryo pods had been skeletal – that didn’t happen in a short amount of time. If the pipboy I’d swiped off one of those skeletons was even remotely accurate, over two hundred years had passed.

With just the suit on my back and a handgun, I lived off what I could scavenge and hunt in the hills. The animals had changed, but a two-headed deer still roasted up into an acceptable meal. I suspected that the enormous roaches that were the only things still alive in the vault were probably a solid source of protein, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of eating one. Even the enormous, strange rodents that kept popping up from underground were too disgusting for me – the smell alone was enough to kill my appetite.

Eventually, though, it was the memory of that long-abandoned overnight bag that brought me back to Sanctuary. A fresh change of clothes and a toothbrush seemed like impossible luxuries now. And hell, maybe the granola bars I’d packed so long ago had somehow survived.

I don’t know who was more shocked when Codsworth caught me busting the rusted door of my old car open; him or me. He’d presumed I was just another looter to chase off, and had been prepared to defend the property. The poor old robot had had nothing but General Atomics’ programming to tell him how to handle two centuries of solitude, and the experience had left him a little senile.

He didn’t believe the awful news about his family at first, and nearly blew a gasket at what he called my poor attempt at humor. In the end, I’d had to bring him down into Vault 111 to show him the bodies before he finally accepted the truth.

At least his creators had seen fit to give him a grief subroutine. It was a small mercy – after he’d spent some time processing the facts, he seemed to gain a firmer handle on reality. I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to reprogram him; he was the only link I really had to my life before the War. Losing the last member of Nora’s family probably would have destroyed me, then.

“But you say young Shaun was alive when you last saw him, didn’t you?” he asked, later the next day, as he followed me from house to house while I sorted through the wreckage for supplies. “Even if they’re monstrous brutes, anyone who would go through that much trouble to kidnap a baby would surely take good care of the little tyke?”

I had to believe that he was right. 

I didn’t know how long I’d been in cryo after Nate had been murdered, but there was a solid chance Shaun was safe and sound, somewhere in this devastated world.

That meant I had time to get my feet under myself. Time to plan. Time to get a sense of who this new enemy of mine was, and time to figure out how to strike them back.

Codsworth had said that there were people in Concord, even if they were what he called ill-tempered scalawags. Maybe they’d seen something, or maybe they’d tell me to fuck off, but I wasn’t going to find Shaun by staying in the wreckage of Sanctuary Hills.

Before I left, though, I’d traded the vault suit for Nate’s old motorcycle gear. I didn’t know what I’d find when I crossed the bridge out of the neighborhood, but I was sure a bright blue suit would make me stick out like a sore thumb. I didn’t want that kind of attention – if it was possible, I wanted to blend in with whatever passed as normal these days. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of going around like an advertisement for Vault-Tec. It was bad enough I’d been taken in by their sick ploy.

I burned the suit and dumped the ashes in the river as we made our way towards Concord.

-

Preston Garvey would probably tell the story a little differently, but running into him and the settlers under his protection was a godsend for me.

Taking care of their little raider problem was crash test in survival that’d served me well. Lesson one: raiders exist. Lesson two: raiders will kill anyone that they’re not already pals with, just for shits and giggles. Lesson three: if you kill the raiders that are trying to kill some other poor bastard, said poor bastard will probably be grateful enough not to ask too many awkward questions. And you might get a sweet suit of power armor out of the bargain, which is always useful.

He seemed grateful when I agreed to accompany him and the settlers to Sanctuary, and didn’t question at all why I’d risked my life for his. For my part, I hadn’t expected to ever return after setting out earlier this morning, let alone so soon. But if I could integrate myself with his group, I could learn a lot about the state of the world and where to start looking for who’d taken Shaun. I’d have to be careful not to come across as too ignorant, but between him and Sturges both asking for help, it was easy to keep my mouth shut, my hands busy, and my ears open.

Once we’d gotten one of the houses fixed up well enough to go on with, I’d started checking in on local settlements. Of course, when Preston had called them settlements, I’d imagined towns. What I found more often than not were depressing little shacks with garden patches that couldn’t possibly support the people living there.

And almost all of them seemed to have trouble with raiders. In time I came to think of them as human radroaches. You couldn’t reason with them, bargain with them, or trust them in a deal. If you paid off a ransom, all it taught them was that you were good for the caps – and you’d find yourself with more and more trouble until you just sucked it up and killed them anyway.

In a way, I was glad that Nora hadn’t lived to see what passed for justice in this new world. She’d been so passionate about the law, about things like due process and fair trials. She’d fought for fair sentencing, rehabilitation, restorative measures – and here I was, thrust almost daily into the role of judge, jury and executioner.

But at least the roads were becoming a little safer. Settlers were finding their ways out of the city ruins and into the settlements of our little corner of the Commonwealth. With the new arrivals, farmers had enough hands to cultivate their land properly. Caravans were even starting to risk the trip through the area again, which I was told hadn’t been happening since the chaos that’d followed the Quincy Massacre.

For the time, I’d decided to dedicate myself to the Minutemen’s cause. It was noble enough in itself, but my main interest was that it gave me plenty of cover to go around sticking my nose into other peoples’ business, asking uncomfortable questions, and learning the lay of the land.

With all that I’d been doing, maybe it shouldn’t have come as a shock when Garvey decided to make me General. It was a hell of a promotion and not one I would have volunteered for, but it suited my agenda to accept it. The more I learned about the state of the Commonwealth, the more it became clear that the people who’d murdered my friends and taken my godson were no common raiders. Whoever the bastards were, they were powerful – and if I was going to take them on, I was going to need a base of power.

The fact that I was working to make the Commonwealth a safer, more secure place _while_ I was stalking down my enemies wasn’t lost on me, but my motivations were far from pure. Sometimes, it was hard to look Garvey in the eyes.

As the weeks turned into months, more and more settlements came under the flag of the Minutemen. Our numbers grew; we retook the Castle and began the work of rebuilding its broken walls. Preston was thrilled with how much progress we’d made, but I was no closer to a lead on Shaun’s captors. All I had was the incident itself. Whoever had planned and executed that operation had known what they’d find within Vault 111, and had been calm and efficient about their work.

I had come to be familiar with the Commonwealth in its new incarnation, but I was no closer to a lead on Shaun’s captors. Whoever had planned and executed that operation had known what they’d find within Vault 111, and had been calm and efficient about their work.

Maybe it could have been Gunners, or Brotherhood, or some other goons. But as I was learning from traveling the Commonwealth and talking to its residents, murder and kidnapping more closely fit the M.O. of the mysterious Institute.

The trouble was, no one seemed to know anything solid about them. Not their goals, not their location, and only fear and uncertainty about their methods. What everyone seemed to know plenty about, though, was their synths; the terrors of the Commonwealth.

Each rumor I heard was more feverish than the last – robots built to look like humans, replacing people and razing entire settlements. It seemed like everyone knew someone that knew someone who’d been replaced, and some people couldn’t lose a game of cards without accusing the victor of being a synth.

Whatever had happened to plant the seeds of fear in the Commonwealth, they had blossomed into the flowers of paranoia.

Now back before the war, I’d known a few things about the cutting-edge state of the art in robotics – and even after my first career in the field had crashed and burned and I’d started over as a mechanic, I’d kept up with the literature. The old academic in me was fascinated by the topic of synths, and I thought I stood to learn a lot about the Institute just by studying their work.

The opportunity to do just that came when Garvey and I answered a distress call coming from an old police station in Cambridge. A Brotherhood of Steel recon squad had been holed up there under siege by feral ghouls, and had come close to being overrun. After we helped them to put the poor feral bastards out of their misery, the so-called Paladin had asked for further assistance – retrieving some sort of transmitter from the ArcJet facility.

Garvey caught my eyes urgently and agreed for me, and I’d gone along with it just to find out what his reasoning was.

“This isn’t the first I’ve heard of the Brotherhood here in the Commonwealth,” he told me, quietly, while Paladin Danse led the way down the road. “And I don’t think our new friends here would be trying to _call_ for help if they didn’t expect help to come. We need to learn more about them, and what they’re really after before they become a problem. Try to get on his good side.”

So I’d let Danse talk about the Brotherhood, about his squad and their mission, and about his views on pre-war industry. And the longer he kept talking, the less enthused I was about the prospect of the Brotherhood becoming an established presence in the Commonwealth. To my mind, they seemed little more than a pseudomilitary cult and the mission he seemed so passionate about just sounded like glorified looting. But I knew well enough when to keep my mouth shut. 

It turned out that we weren’t the first to enter the facility in search of the transmitter. Dozens of Institute synths had infiltrated the place and taken out the facility’s security bots well before our arrival. Although Danse spotted the signs before we encountered the synths themselves, I still wasn’t prepared when the first of them ambushed us.

If I’d been alone, I’m certain I would have died. I was too overcome with wonder to raise my shotgun; too fascinated with how the synth moved to register its hostile intent.

“This is exactly why I don’t like working with civilians!” Danse shouted, once he and Garvey had taken the synth down. “Despite my warning, you were totally unprepared to face the enemy. Is this really the best the Minutmen can muster?”

“Take it easy,” Garvey said, eager to defend me. “She’d never seen one before, and she has a knack for talking down bots with their wires crossed. I’m sure the General just--”

“I don’t care what she has a ‘knack’ for,” Danse replied dismissively. “If she can’t respond appropriately to threats as they appear, she’s a threat to my mission here.”

Danse and Garvey continued to argue, but I ignored them to kneel and get a better look at the synth. He was a pitiful sight, with his exterior casing shattered off and his yellow eyes staring soullessly into the void. If his face hadn’t been lost with the rest of the casing, I think I might’ve tried to close his eyelids.

I shook myself and refocused. Whatever he was doing here, no matter how much of a marvel he was, I doubted he was the only one of his kind in the building. I had to learn what I could from him quickly, and get this over with before the others discovered our presence and ambushed us.

He was strangely frail, I thought, for something that was programmed for combat. In a contest between a synth and a prewar assaultron, I’d have laid my money on the assaultron easily. I suspected that the original design specification hadn’t called for combat use at all – which meant that certain compromises would have had to have been made well after he had come off the production line.

“Look, it won’t happen again,” I said, interrupting them and standing and leading the way down the hall with my shotgun at the ready. “You should aim for where their limbs join their bodies. The plating is thinnest there. They're weak individually, but I expect that we’ll find they compensate for that in numbers.”

Danse made a noise that was either frustration or dismissal, and crowded ahead of me in his power armor. To my credit, I didn’t hesitate again – we cut through dozens of synths as we worked through the building. Apparently, my turnaround in attitude and quick thinking in the basement had eventually earned his respect, and when we left, he offered me a place in the Brotherhood.

“Paladin, I’m about as likely to accept that offer as you are to join up with the Minutemen,” I replied, hoping I came across more diplomatic than condescending. “You’re a good soldier, and I’d be happy to call you an ally – but I do have my own responsibilities. Surely you understand.”

He chuckled at that, and we parted ways peacefully enough. Once he was out of sight, I motioned Preston for us to head back into the building.

“Well. Despite the rocky start, I figure he’ll report back to his brass that the Minutemen aren’t a threat to them,” Preston said, with a sigh. “If they’re recruiting, though, we’re going to have a problem competing with them to get folks to join up. I don’t like it, General.”

“You’re probably right,” I admitted. “But when they come, we’re going to have to be ready to welcome them. If they turn out to pose a threat… well, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

We both knew that if it came down to a fight, the Minutemen didn’t stand a chance against an equal number of Brotherhood soldiers.

I coughed. “Anyway. Brotherhood aside, there’s another reason I wanted to come back in here. We can’t do anything about the human-type synths that everyone’s afraid of, but I figure we could stand to learn something by studying one of these earlier ones. I need your help hauling one of them back to Sunshine Tidings.”

“Graygarden’s a lot closer, isn’t it?” Preston asked, as we moved through the building to find that first synth we’d encountered. He hadn’t argued, but I could tell he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea. I couldn’t blame him for being uncomfortable with handling a dead synth – the way their eyes stayed lit even after death unsettled me, too.

“Sure,” I replied, “but we have a lot of traders moving through there. I don’t want to spook them. Sunshine’s a quieter place, and it’s got the better workshop between the two.”

Together, we rigged up a stretcher out of debris in the lobby. Preston hesitated once we got the synth onto the stretcher, and reluctantly took off his scarf. He shook it out before laying it carefully over the synth’s ruined face.

He didn’t offer an explanation, and I didn’t ask for one.

–

Unfortunately, examining the synth’s remains didn’t reveal anything I didn’t already know about the Institute. Sure, there was plenty for me to learn about how exactly a synth _functioned_ , but what I’d really been hoping was that I could wire it up to a terminal and have a poke around in its databanks.

The Institute had apparently prepared for just such a scenario by making it so that on catastrophic failure, the synth’s mind would be wiped utterly blank. There had been nothing left for me to find.

If I wanted to learn what was in a synth’s mind, I realized, I’d have to get hold of a live one. It was a risky prospect, and I didn’t even know where to begin hunting one down much less how I’d subdue it. So I shelved the idea, and went back to the drawing board.

\--

It was obvious that Institute agents who’d infiltrated my Vault had known what to expect inside. Intel like that would almost certainly have to had come from Vault-Tec itself.

The regional offices were a natural place to start my investigation, but I didn’t turn up so much as a list of the locations of local Vaults there. Had the Institute simply covered their tracks, destroying the same evidence they’d made use of? Was I barking up the wrong tree investigating them from this angle?

Standing in that ruined office tower, a thought seized me. What if the Institute had attacked other the Vaults as well? If they’d needed one baby, wouldn’t it stand to reason that they’d take others? Scientists did love their control groups, after all. And if they _had_ done this more than once, there was a chance that somewhere, in one of those other Vaults, there was some shred of evidence I could use to track them down. I just had to find it.

It was a shaky line of thinking, I admit. But it was either that or nothing, and I refused to admit defeat.

Besides. The Institute’s CIT predecessors had already fucked me over once. Twice was just asking for payback.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It'd taken some doing to hunt down the locations of the other local vaults, but between pre-war rumors I dredged out of my memory and gossip from traders, I think I eventually accounted for each of them.

None of the others had been cryo facilities, of course – and I’d had to just about write off hopes of getting into Vault 95 anytime soon. The place was entirely infested with Gunners, and I had no hope of taking them out solo. My best bet was to strengthen the Minutemen and eventually use them to push the Gunners out of the Commonwealth for good. Until then, the place was at the bottom of my list.

Vault 81 was still in operation, but that made it easy to determine that they’d never faced an assault like what happened in 111. That didn’t mean Institute agents had never infiltrated, posing as traders – but I suspect they wouldn’t have let me in if strangers had ever made off with any babies. Still, they hadn’t minded when I’d taken Curie with me on my way out – medical genius or not, a robot apparently didn’t rate their concern.

We’d traveled together for several weeks, and what she saw of the surface world seemed to upset her. It wasn’t just the violence that she hated, though – the filth people lived with in their homes, the poor standards of hygiene, and the prevalence of avoidable diseases were all common topics of tirades in her charming accent.

After treating a man we’d found suffering from symptoms of dysentery that he blamed on canned meat, she had decided that couldn’t take anymore and that she had to do something to improve matters. In the end, I’d wound up coordinating with the Castle to have a pair of Minutemen meet her at Longneck Lukowski’s cannery to investigate the place, and then to escort her around the Commonwealth instructing settlers on basic sanitation.

It had been a disappointment to lose her company, but I had a mission of my own to contend with. As much as I liked her, I couldn’t let myself grow distracted.

Finding Vault 88 had been something of a surprise. It had scarcely been excavated, never mind constructed when the bombs fell. Overseer Barstow was a woman unhinged, but it was easy for me to see the tactical advantage in having a secret vault that no one knew about. I played along with her getting the place set up for people to move in as experimental subjects, but I’d sabotaged the radio beacon. To her it looked like it was broadcasting loud and clear, but it’d be a cold day in hell before I’d lure anyone in to play labrat for her. Still, an emergency fallback position for the Minutemen in case we ever lost the Castle again wasn’t a bad idea.

With the others ruled out, that only left Vault 114. Rumor around Goodneighbor had it that it was held by a splinter faction of Triggermen, and controlled by a man called Skinny Malone. No one seemed to know what they were up to in there, but I didn’t get the sense that anyone expected them to accomplish much.

Initial recon made it clear that regardless of what people thought of his operation, he didn’t take security lightly. There were guards posted at the entrance at all times day and night, with an overlapping shift changeover.

In the end, I decided a little deception was the best tactic to go with. Barstow hadn’t noticed when I’d swiped a Vault 88 suit during my last visit. I stowed my usual gear in a bolthole in the Fens, released my hair from under the bandana and hat I usually trapped it under, and gave myself a good scrubdown with as much bottled water as I’d manage to carry with me. I came out looking every bit like the stereotype of a fresh-faced vault dweller.

When I reached the entrance to the Park Street station, I hesitated. I knew that this was a risky gamble with a low chance of paying off, but I had to see for myself if there was any sign of Institute activity in the place. If there wasn’t… well, I’d find some other way of chasing the bastards down.

I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed the doors open as noisily as I could.

“Hi there!” I called out as I climbed down the escalator. The three guards I’d known would be posted in the ticketing area below came running, weapons to hand. I pretended I didn’t notice anything amiss. “Are you gentlemen available to discuss a matter of local history?”

\--

The cover story was simple – the Overseer of Vault 88, I claimed, had sent me out into the Commonwealth to study the fates of other Vaults in the region. To that end, I simply wanted a statement regarding the condition Malone had initially found the Vault in, along with the opportunity to retrieve pre-war documents and data from the various computer terminals to be found throughout the place. Malone seemed to be inclined to tell me to take a hike, but his lady-love in the sparkling dress was willing to bite.

“So what’s it worth to you?” she asked, idly spinning a baseball bat. I’d seen them hawked in Diamond City by a man with a passion for the sport matched only by his ignorance of it. He'd called them swatters and pitched them as both memorabilia and weapon. It was an odd choice for this woman, considering that nearly everyone around her was toting a submachine gun. Maybe it was a reminder of home. Maybe she just liked to get up close and personal with anyone that crossed her.

“Well, I haven’t been on the surface long,” I said, knitting my brows and trying to look troubled. “It’s been… difficult, adjusting to what’s considered valuable. I understand that you use, um, bottle caps as some form of currency?” As I was speaking, I slung my pack off and set it on the floor, kneeling to fish out an emptied Buffout bottle that I’d filled with caps. At rough estimate there were at least three hundred in there. “Would this be enough to compensate you for your time? I understand that you’re very busy, and that I’m asking a lot, coming in here like this…”

Moving quicker than I’d have expected given the shoes she had on, the woman snatched the bottle from me and weighed it with a slight toss in her hand. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll about do it, lady.”

Malone’s eyes tracked from her, to me, and back again. I’d heard that this was his operation, but it was becoming clear that his girl was the one in charge. “Perfect!” I said, closing up my pack and standing once again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms…?”

She rolled her eyes at me, before going to Malone’s side and whispering something in his ear. He blinked at her before whispering back, and she stalked off in a hurry. A moment later, I heard what I assumed was the impact of her bat on the wall. Odd.

“You’ll have to forgive Darla,” Malone said, shaking his head just a little. “You’re, uh… not the only visitor we’ve had recently, and she’s still out of sorts about that. Now I’ll have one of my guys show you around, whatever you want to see, and when you’re done just come find me and I’ll tell you all about how we set up in this place. Only thing is, I can’t let you into the Overseer’s office. We’re… entertaining… our other visitor there, now. Can't have him disturbed. I'm sure you understand how it is. Daniels! Show the lady around, will you?”

Entertaining sounded like code for torture, but I tried to keep the alarm off my face. I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of fighting my way out of here with just a handgun if things went sour. I just had to keep my cool.

As Malone left to follow Darla, a ghoul in shirtsleeves and suspenders approached and nodded at me. “Terminals, right? Not that many of them in here. Let’s get this over with.”

\--

I wasn’t just going to let go of the fact that there was apparently someone in trouble down here. Even if I’d only become General of the Minutemen to suit my private agenda, I still had a duty to help people who needed help, wherever I found them. This poor fool in hot water with the Triggermen was no different.

My cover would be a little curious about the situation with the ‘other visitor’ but wouldn’t really consider it any of her business. She would, however, be disappointed with the lack of access to the Overseer’s office, so although she wouldn’t take a huge risk she’d probably try something plucky to get in there.

And regardless of the prisoner’s fate, I needed access to all of the terminals in this place, not just a convenient few. If, and even then I knew it was a big if, the Institute had sent a team through here, _they_ certainly wouldn’t have skipped the Overseer’s office. It was the place most likely to house sensitive information if any was to be had in this dump.

But the vaultie I was posing as wouldn’t be anxious about it. She’d take her time, touring the half-finished carcass of a Vault, and digging through files, and making notes, and playing with terminals. She wouldn’t quite a master at cracking passwords, not having had the benefit of my misspent youth, but she’d be adept enough to get what she wanted eventually.

Daniels was growing bored the longer I took, shifting from one foot to the other restlessly. He hadn’t been particularly talkative, but I’d kept up a stream of prattle regardless. How this Vault differed from others I’d visited, how life on the surface had seemed so strange at first, and was he from before the war, like some of the ghouls I’d heard about? What was it like back then?

In essence, I was priming him to want to ditch me.

“I know Mr. Malone said that I couldn’t go into the Overseer’s office, because of your other guest,” I said, eventually, leafing through age-yellowed papers that were beginning to crumble in my hands. “But… well, is the guy in there _really_ so dangerous?”

“Lady, Mr. V ain’t no trouble,” my escort said, sighing. “Boss either ought to put him out of his misery, or just send him packing. Locking him up in there is just a waste of space.”

So he was just being held for now, not being tortured. That gave me the feeling that it wouldn’t be too hard to get in there – both to get what I needed, and try and get the poor sod out.

“No trouble, huh?” I hummed. “Well… you know, I really _would_ like a peek in there. Just real quick! What your boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

He gave me a look that despite his withered and rad-scorched features I had no trouble reading. Business. “Two things, Vaultie. You cough up some caps for me first, and then you don’t make me regret this. It ain’t the boss I got to explain myself to if you get caught.”

So I’d been right about Darla. Interesting.

I dug around in my pack for another bottle of caps, this one only half-full. He took it and nodded slightly, before hiding it away in the back of the desk I’d been sitting at moments ago. I guessed that he’d come back for it later, once I was gone and things had calmed down a little. Maybe if he escaped suspicion of helping me, he’d even survive long enough to do it.

But I didn’t feel bad risking his life – he was the one who’d signed up with a pack of mobsters.

“So this is how things are going to work. I’m going to call off the guy watching Mr. V, to keep an eye on you while I’m taking a leak. But you’ll have already slipped by, and into the office. You do your thing, you don’t waste time chatting with Mr. V, and you come find me outside of the bathrooms. Dino ain’t gonna want to raise an alarm, ‘cause it’ll look like it was his fault for losing track of you. But you take too long getting back to me, he comes and finds you in that office… well, I don’t know nothing about it. Got me?”

It wasn’t the greatest plan I’d ever heard, but it was the best I was likely to get out of him. I smiled at him and clapped my hands together in a caricature of delight. “Perfectly clear. It’s a deal.”

\--

The door to the Overseer’s office was controlled by a terminal, but luckily the security on it was so weak that I’m sure I could have cracked it in my sleep. As soon as the door slipped open I was inside.

I don’t know what I’d expected of the unlucky, “Mr. V,” but the sight of the man that rose to meet me now made me drop my clipboard in shock.

He was a synth.

Was his presence here proof that the Institute had, as I’d theorized, made a habit of sweeping vaults for intel? Or was he one of those escapees I’d heard whispers about? From what I'd heard, those tended to be the more recent organic models that could pass for human, but that didn’t mean there weren’t occasional exceptions.

It just didn’t make sense that he’d be here as an agent of the Institute. They tended to deploy their older synths in vast numbers to compensate for how frail they were, and I’d never heard of one getting captured alive before. Besides that, I’d never seen one of the early ones wearing a stitch of clothing.

But if he was an escapee, well. That changed things. He’d have grievances with them as much as I did.

Regardless of his story he was the first synth I’d encountered that hadn’t been immediately hostile. If I played my cards right, I wouldn’t _have_ to capture him to use him as a source of information.

As if he was just waiting for me to snap out of it, he lit a cigarette. His glowing yellow eyes traced steadily from the clipboard at my feet, to my pip-boy, before finally locking onto my own eyes. “So. As much as I appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress trope, I have to wonder why our heroine risked life and limb to rescue an old private eye.”

The flame of his lighter had illuminated both his skeletal metal hand and the torn skin of his face and throat, and the words were out of my mouth before I registered having thought them. “Holy shit. Were they _torturing_ you? Are you okay? I just came here to scrape the data off that terminal, but…” My voice trailed off as I could feel my plan shifting around me. I thought I’d been wrong about Malone’s hospitality, but this synth was in rough shape. “Fuck it. You need a boost out of here, I’ll play the heroine for you.”

Looking for the Institute’s fingerprints in a half-finished Vault was more than likely a dead end anyway.

“It’s old damage,” he said, with a wry chuckle. “But I appreciate the concern. Why don’t you go ahead and coax what you need out of that terminal? We have at least a couple of minutes before anyone comes knocking, and I’m sure you didn’t steal that vault suit and waltz down here without a good reason.”

“Uh… yeah. I’ll… do that,” I said. I was struggling to keep up with what I was witnessing here; he sure wasn’t a hollow puppet like the synths I'd fought at ArcJet. He’d claimed to be a private eye and didn’t just dress the part like he’d waltzed straight out of a holoflick – he’d clocked right away how thin my cover was, without even having to hear the story.

He was a marvel, and I don't know how I stopped myself from staring at him as I sat at the desk and began to work.

The terminal clicked and whirred as I copied its meager contents to holotape. As soon as it spat the tape out, I tucked it into my bag and quickly cased the room for anything else of use. A few other tapes were the only things that caught my eyes.

“You have a name, there, or just a mysterious agenda and moxie?” he asked, pulling a gun out of his coat and moving to the window to see if the coast was clear. I wondered, briefly, how Malone’s crew had managed to capture him if he’d had that the whole time. Had they even known he’d had it?

“Name’s Vera Jones, of the Commonwealth Minutemen. This...uh, isn’t exactly official business, though. Appreciate it if you keep it quiet. You?”

“So you’re that new General I’ve been hearing noise about, huh? Well, I’m Nick Valentine, a detective out Diamond City. But why don’t we save the chatter for once we’re out of here?”

I let him lead the way through the Vault, the better to have a chance to study him. His movements were so much more fluid and natural than the other early synths I’d seen, and I suspected he was a different model entirely. But that possibility alone raised more questions than I could begin to list, and I knew that I’d heard that name of his somewhere before. I was so distracted that when Valentine stopped dead in his tracks I just about plowed into him.

“We’ve got a little problem here,” he said, as I moved around him to see my former escort slumped against the wall with a hole in his forehead and his gun missing. Valentine’s eyes darted from the wound to the pistol in my holster, before shaking his head just slightly.

“Well, shit.” It seemed that Dino hadn’t quite bought the story that my escort had tried to sell him, and it was suddenly dawning on me that a detective didn’t go into a mobster den without a reason. There was clearly a more complicated situation brewing down here than I’d imagined. “I think I got played.”

Maybe the both of had gotten in over our heads, but I hoped that together we’d stand a chance of making it out alive.

“We might have to fight our way out of here,” Valentine said, voicing a fear of mine. “Someone’s going to find him soon, and the natural assumption will be that we had something to do with it.”

I swallowed and ran my had over the pistol in my thigh holster. I was really starting to regret leaving my more serious hardware behind for this trip.

\--

“I told you that you should have iced him when he came here sniffing after me!” Darla shouted at Malone, slamming her bat into a shelving unit. She was a slender thing, but she left a sizable dent in the metal. “And you, little miss Vaultie! Did you really think I’d bought your act? Scheming your way in here after Valentine, trying to distract us with a few hundred measly caps! He used that computer head of his to call you in, to rub us all out! You already killed Daniels. Just admit it!”

“Darla, honey, Skinny Malone has it all under control. Just let me handle this, alright?”

“Skinny, you don’t have anything under control! You’re weak! It’s your fault we’re in this mess, with all that garbage you were spewing about the old neighborhood! Who the hell gets sentimental about a goddamned synth, anyway?”

“She’s right about one thing, Malone,” Nick interjected. “You’re not in control of this. Did you know your flame here has been scheming against you? Sweet-talking your own crew into taking each other out, to suit her agenda? You go look at your guy and pull the bullet out of his skull. It’s no 10mm or .38 like we're carrying. It’s a .45 or someone swapped my optics with marbles while I wasn’t looking. And that's what _your_ boys are packing.”

That didn’t exactly endear him to Malone, who was balling his free hand into a fist. The other was shaky on his submachine gun. “You come into my home, meddle in my business, and then try to tell me my girl’s playing me for a fool? Nicky, buddy. I went easy on you ‘cause of old times, but you’re really pushing your luck here. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Just let me rub them out, Skinny! One whack to the back of the head’ll take care of the lady, and Valentine’s half-busted already,” Darla chimed in. I noticed she seemed paler since Valentine had pointed out the discrepancy in the ammunition, despite her big talk. Her scheme, whatever it’d been, was falling apart. I just had to kick a little harder at the foundation.

“Malone, you’re a businessman. That means you’ve got competition, right? You’re used to people trying to slime their way in, take what’s yours. Now, you know Valentine. What’s he even stand to gain by ratting on you? But your girl? Come on. What’s a woman like that doing down in this hole-in-the-ground if it’s not with a business plan of her own?”

He turned to look at her, and that alone told me that he’d had his insecurities whispering to him long before now. “Darla…?”

“Don’t listen to her, Skinny! What does she know, anyway? She just wants to pull one over on you!”

“Darla,” Valentine said. “I only came here after you because your parents _hired_ me to. They were worried. They thought you’d been kidnapped. Don’t they deserve to know you’re alright?”

“You have a home, and a family that cares,” I said, spotting a gap and jumping in. “That’s more than most in this world, these days. So things here didn’t work out. A smart girl like you should know when to cut her losses and go back to the drawing board. Is Malone really going to trust you again after this? Is it worth pinning your dreams on him?”

“Oh – fine! You’re right, damn you!” Darla snapped, chucking her bat full-force at the wall. It bounced off, and rolled past Malone’s feet while he stared on wordlessly. “This whole thing has been a waste of time!”

With that, she stormed out through the Vault door without a single look back.

“Darla was playing me?” Malone asked, in a small voice. He sounded like a man broken.

“She as good as admitted it by walking out on you, didn’t she?” I said, gently, laying a hand on his upper arm. I didn’t actually pity him, but a soft touch here might ensure he didn’t take out his loss on me or Valentine. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. But at least now, you know the truth. You can put your house in order and make this operation shine, now that she’s not undermining you anymore.”

“Yeah,” he said, shakily. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m better off. Way I see it, you twos did me a favor, even if it’s a hard one. I’ll tell my boys to let you out. But Nicky? I don’t want to see that face of yours down here again. I got a business to run, and this ain’t the old neighborhood. Got it?”

“Yeah, Skinny. I get it,” Valentine said, nodding at me and then tipping his head towards the exit.

We left in a hurry, not even pausing to speak. He seemed to know the way out, leading me through a doorway I hadn’t even spotted and up a ladder to the street above.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

It was raining like hell when we made it to the surface. I turned quickly to look at Valentine, worried about the exposed wiring I'd seen through his neck. He just turned the collar of his coat up a little higher and gave me a raised eyebrow.

“...Guessing a little water's not a problem for you, then," I said. I felt stupid even as the words left my mouth. Of course he'd be fine in the rain; even most of the pre-war bots still roaming around the 'Wealth had their sealants intact.

Something like a smile began to tug at his features. His face didn't move quite like a human's, but it was more expressive by far than other early synths I’d seen. The structure, even the texture of his face was different from theirs. Hell, he had wrinkles around his mouth just like a human might. If I thought about the holes in his face as scars instead of the open wounds I’d initially taken them for, I almost could have called him handsome.

Definitely a different production run. I wondered how long ago he’d been built, but it seemed like a rude question to ask when I scarcely knew his name.

“I’ll be fine. You sure worry a lot about an old synth, you know that? I’m not about to short out or anything.”

“Well, I did kind of cast my lot in with you,” I said, tearing my eyes away. It wouldn’t do to put him off with me staring, no matter how I wanted to absorb every detail. Nora always did say my level of focus could be unsettling.

“And I appreciate it. Are you headed back to Diamond City?”

“Might as well,” I said. “But I’ll need to make a stop in the Fens on the way. I don’t exactly want to be seen around town in this disguise… for all that Darla chose to walk out on Malone, I’m sure she’s feeling sour at me for the whole thing. Best she doesn’t recognize me.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Valentine said, nodding towards the road and starting down it. I tailed after him, a few paces behind. “Must be something pretty important, to make you think a scheme like that was your best option. What were you expecting to find on that terminal?”

“There was an… attack, on another Vault,” I said after a moment, hoping he wouldn’t turn around to look at me. The incandescence of his eyes had given me the feeling it’d be hard to hide much from him, and that bit he'd used on Malone about the ammunition sizes had made it clear he wasn’t a slouch as a detective. I wanted to feed him just enough information to catch his interest, and no more. “I needed to know if anything similar had occurred in other Vaults. Establish a pattern, or at least the absence of one.”

“And you said it’s a personal matter, not official Minutemen business,” he said, with a thoughtful tone. “Well, it’s none of my business either, unless you want it to be. But... I owe you one for that rescue. If you want a hand with your investigation, I’m all ears.”

I hesitated for show. It was a careful game I’d have to play – seeming too eager to dump my problems on him would be just as suspicious as refusing help altogether. “I’ll have to think about it. It’s not something I’m in the habit of talking about.”

“You don’t have to decide just yet,” he said. “It’s an offer that’ll keep. Just come see me at my office if you want to talk.”

Silence fell between us again as we made our way through the downtown ruins. He picked a shorter route between Park Street station and the Fens than I had on the way in.

"Why the disguise, anyway? If it’s not asking too much...I'm curious," he said, pausing under a fire escape in a dark alleyway. I sighed and leaned against a brick wall. It seemed like I was going to have to give him a little something to keep him on the hook.

"Well, I try to keep my personal business separate from my work with the Minutemen. But that isn't exactly easy when people see me as General first—settlers see someone who can solve their problems for them, and guys like Malone see an authority coming to challenge them. It's not really an effective way of getting anyone to help me."

"Asking for help when you need it isn’t a bad strategy, you know,” he said, softly, eyes on mine. Somehow, I got the sense that he was more concerned about me than he was curious about the case I was waving under his nose, and it made me feel a little dirty for the game I was playing. Not enough to back out of it, though. Not with everything I stood to learn from him.

“Maybe so,” I allowed, before glancing at the map on my pip-boy and continuing on towards the Fens. He wasn’t wrong in the least, but asking for help risked being refused. It wasn’t a position I liked to put myself in without trying every last plausible alternative first.

\--

I’d stashed a change of clothes and some light armor in an old bank, buried in a cardboard box under the teller’s counter. It wasn’t exactly my best gear—too much of a chance that a scavver would happen on the place before I got back. People kept giving me caps when I solved little problems for them, but fixing up settlements across the ‘Wealth wasn’t a cheap venture. I didn’t have so much I kept for myself that I could easily bear the loss of anything that hadn’t been pulled off a corpse.

Valentine had been enough of a gent to serve as a lookout for me while I’d shucked off the Vault suit and burned it in a trash can. I appreciated the courtesy – nothing makes you feel more vulnerable than stripping down to your skivvies in an abandoned building, and I while I’d cleared it earlier in the day and again when we arrived there was always the chance I’d missed a napping feral.

“Destroying the evidence, huh?” he chuckled, once I’d given him the all-clear to turn around. “You know, you could have given me a fake name and slipped me as soon as we were out of the Vault. For someone so cautious, you seem to at least want to have someone to trust.”

So he was sharp enough to pick up on that. Interesting. “I did say I was considering your offer,” I said, lightly. “And maybe putting you on lookout duty was a test. Considering what privacy goes for out here...”

He just laughed, and after I made sure the ashes were unidentifiable we left. The rain had tapered off in the meantime, which of course meant that the usual hazards of downtown that had left us alone so far were likely to come out to play.

We weren’t far from Diamond City’s gates when he touched my shoulder to get my attention. I didn’t even get a chance to ask him what was wrong before I heard it – the crack of gunfire, and the usual shouting of super mutants. They didn’t sound far off.

“The guards are probably fending off the local mutants again,” he explained, checking his gun. “Neither of us is really equipped to lend a hand, but we should still keep an eye out.”

We crept closer, both of us picking routes through shadow and rubble that kept us well concealed. The guards seemed to be holding their own with the mutants, but the baying of the hounds had me worried.

Even with some armor and a shotgun between me and the world, I still didn’t want to tangle with anything I couldn’t avoid instead. It didn’t matter if one hound went down easily enough if another got behind you while you were taking care of the first.

Valentine seemed to have the same idea, and I wasn’t surprised. Rain-proof sealants or no, if he was anywhere near as frail as his older cousins he’d be in trouble if a fight got into melee range. He’d gotten those holes in him somehow, even if it hadn’t been by Malone’s hand.

Suddenly, he shoved me hard. I stumbled badly and felt something in my ankle tear as I hit the ground. There was no time to ask what the hell he’d been thinking, though – one of the hounds had found us, and he was facing it down with just his ridiculous pipe revolver. There was no way he was going to be able to take that thing down with it alone.

I rolled to my knees with my teeth grit against the pain, and raised my shotgun to line up a shot. The hound was staggered with the first blast, and Valentine used the momentary advantage to finish it off.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Valentine said after a moment, kneeling by my side and keeping a lookout for me as I tore through my bag looking for med-x and a stimpack for my ankle. “I saw it before you did, and there wasn’t time to warn you.”

I winced as I pulled off my boot and carefully rotated my ankle. It didn’t seem broken, but it hurt like hell anyway. “Rather have a sprain than die, I guess.”

It was the work of just a few moments to patch myself up, and we were soon on our way again. If I moved a little more slowly than before, he was too much of a gent to mention it.

\--

When we made it through the gates into Diamond City, I let out a sigh of relief. My ankle wasn’t bothering me anymore, but the excitement of the day was taking its toll on me. All I wanted was a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.

It was late, and although most shops had closed up for the night there were still a few people milling around the marketplace.

I dropped into a seat at Power Noodles and ordered before Takahashi could even finish saying “Nan-ni shimasu ka?”. One of these days, I was really going to have to take a look at him and see what was wrong with his speech processor. It didn’t seem like being locked into one phrase impeded his career as a chef any, but I still felt bad for the poor bot.

Valentine watched me nearly inhale my noodles in total silence, and waited until I was done to speak.

“I’m going to head back to the agency. You should get some rest, and come see me when you’re ready. You only need to look for the neon signs to find me,” he said.“People tell me that they’re an eyesore, but they sure bring in the business.”

“Neon signs?” I asked slowly, wiping noodle broth from my face and hoping I didn’t look as confused as I felt. I’d passed through Diamond City a number of times and recently bought a housing permit, but hadn’t explored the place exhaustively. It was just too easy to get lost, and my pip-boy didn’t help much in a chaotic shantytown like this.

He tilted his head back slightly, as if to observe me from a slightly different angle. I couldn’t always tell before I said something that it’d come across weird, but it wasn’t hard to tell from how people reacted. “Yeah. Pink, neon, heart with an arrow shot through? You can see one down that alley there,” he said, pointing. “I thought you’d been to Diamond City before?”

“I have, but...huh. Never seen that there before. I guess I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. Might’ve found my way to you before all this, if I’d known there was a detective around.”

“I’m not so sure you would have,” Valentine said wryly. Was that a comment on my navigational abilities, or my general caginess? I couldn’t tell. “Still. Whether you drop by to see me or not, I appreciate the rescue. Take care of yourself, alright?”

With that, he was gone. I figured I’d wait a week or so go by before stopping in to see him, let him marinate a little in his curiosity. In the meantime, I had a double date with a pillow and a blanket.

–

The first thing I was aware of in the morning was that my ankle felt stiff again. I injected another dose of med-x and stretched carefully before moving from bed. One thing I’d learned since waking up was that while scavenged pre-war stimpacks were still better than nothing, they tended not to be as effective as ones recently prepared by a competent chemist.

Curie claimed that it had something to do with the preservatives in the older ones breaking down over time. She’d been happy to make fresh ones for me, but when we’d parted ways a few weeks back I’d quickly run through my supply. All I had left were the pre-war ones, and not so many of them that I felt comfortable wasting another on a mostly-healed sprain.

Anyway, even if I hadn’t decided to hold off on going to see Valentine, I had business in town to take care of that would keep me occupied for a while. It wasn’t like I was going to be running around through the ruins until my ankle had a bit more time to heal on its own.

To put it simply, the Minutemen needed more recruits. Even with the Castle back in our hands and the radio available to coordinate our actions, we were spread far too thin. Our patrols simply roamed the Commonwealth, responding to calls for help as they came in. Mostly, they were able to keep up.

Mostly. But there were exceptions; times when we weren’t able to deliver on the promise of protecting the people at a minute’s notice. It was how we’d lost Somerville Place – bored Gunners had apparently set a nearby sentrybot loose and let it slaughter everyone there.

Sentry bots aren’t easy to take down by any means, but if a patrol had arrived in time there was a chance we could have kept the thing busy long enough for the settlers to escape.

Instead, they had died.

I couldn’t let it happen again.

My plan was to build up our ranks and garrison them at every settlement throughout the ‘Wealth. We’d have more patrols sweeping through the wastes, cleaning out raider nests and mutie camps alike. Gunners and raiders would think twice about hitting targets that weren’t so soft, and the Minutemen deployed in a settlement could report in about local conditions and keep defenses well maintained.

Ronnie Shaw hadn’t left me with any illusions regarding how long it took to turn a green recruit into an able militiaman. But she’d agreed that our response time was our biggest weakness, and she offered to beat some sense into anyone I was able to send her way. It was a start.

It was why I’d bought the housing permit in Diamond City. If I’d just wanted a place to lay my head at night, the Dugout Inn was good enough. But I planned on turning Home Plate into an outpost for the Minutemen. Patrols roaming the downtown ruins would be garrisoned there, people with problems the city guards didn’t want to touch could come in for help, and it was a perfect location for a recruitment office.

The thing was, I spent most of my time on the road. I could get the outpost started up, but I was going to need a reliable proxy to actually run the place. I radioed the Castle, and after a bit of back-and-forth, found that one of the men that’d helped to take back the Castle was originally from Diamond City.

His name was Whitman, and he was due to report in the day after next. I didn’t remember much about him from when we’d met, but the day we’d retaken the Castle had been a busy one. Ronnie didn’t seem to think he was too likely to foul anything up, and that was good enough for me.

After putting the final touches on the place, I spent most of the rest of that day in the market, trading and catching up on news and gossip. It was always good to know the buzz around town.

Arturo’s neighbor’s cousin had recently run off to join the Railroad, and been disowned for it. “Can’t say I blame the family,” Arturo said, counting out caps in exchange for the spare ammunition I was selling him. “People’d start calling them synth sympathizers next, and it’s not much of a step from there to being called synths themselves. If Davvy wanted to join up with that lot, he should have kept his mouth shut about it.”

“So this Railroad,” I asked, leaning against the counter. “How much do you know about them? I’ve been back and forth across the ‘Wealth, and all I hear about them is whispers. Feels like I know more about the Institute itself.”

“Eh. I don’t know a hell of a lot for certain. No one does, and I think that’s the way they like it. But if synths want out of the Institute, I think they should handle it themselves. Not lure people’s kids away to fight and die for them. You know?”

I shrugged, and scooped up my caps. It wasn’t like I knew enough about the subject to disagree, but something about his tone put me off. I wondered if he’d ever had a stranger risk their life for his, and if he thought the Minutemen were any better a cause. 

–

When Whitman arrived, I was having breakfast outside of the Dugout Inn. He’d been eager to want to talk shop immediately, but when his stomach’s gurgling interrupted him from introducing himself I just sent him inside to order a meal on my tab.

He was younger than I’d expected – scarcely out of his teens, if I was any judge. But children of the wastes were forced to grow up quickly, and I didn’t doubt that he could handle himself. The question was, could he handle being the face of the Minutemen for Diamond City? The next few days would answer that one way or another, and I didn’t have much choice.

After we both finished our meals, I took him over to the outpost for a tour. The front was set up as a reception office, the hallway was largely storage, and the back was a living area for the Minutemen that would eventually be based here for downtown patrols. I’d converted the upstairs loft to a bedroom for him, but he turned it down.

“Actually, I’ve, uh. Already made arrangements, ma’am. I’ll be moving in with a friend of mine, as long as living here isn’t part of my duties…?” he said, awkwardly. Between the emphasis he’d put on the word friend and the blush on his face, I got the picture.

“No, that’s fine,” I said, not drawing attention to the matter. I didn’t want to embarrass him more. "I just didn’t want to put you in the position of needing to find a place to live, on top of running an outpost. If you can think of a better use of the space, feel free to do as you see fit.”

“I know you’ll be on the road most of the time, but since you’re in town for now wouldn’t it be better to stay here than the Dugout?”

I’d spent a few nights here while working on the place, but claiming any part of it as my own felt like taking advantage more of my status as General than I strictly needed to. I didn’t like it, but for the next few days I’d be in town it wasn’t worth complaining about.

We were finishing up for the day when something occurred to me. Whitman was from Diamond City, and it was probable that he’d know something about Valentine’s history. It was still bothering me that I couldn’t place where I’d heard his name before, and I was hoping something would shake the memory loose.

“Now this isn’t really related to Minutemen business, but I’ve got a question for you. What do you know about that detective?”


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, Valentine, are you in?" I called out as I entered his cramped office. Navigating the shantytown that was Diamond City was still a challenge for me despite having spent the last week inside its walls. I wasn’t familiar with the alleyways and quieter corners of the place, and I doubt I’d have ever seen the pink neon signs if Valentine himself hadn’t told me to look for them.

"I think he'll be back soon, if you’d like to wait,” came a voice from upstairs. There was the shuffling noise of something being put away, and a woman hurried down to meet me. “Oh! You’re the one that rescued Nick! He was really in a fix from what he said, and I can't thank you enough for getting him out of there. By the time he came back in through the door, I'd just about given him up for dead. I’m Ellie Perkins, by the way. I run the books here."

"Vera Jones, Commonwealth Minutemen.” I introduced myself and shook her hand. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and it’s not like I could have left him behind."

"A lot of people would’ve," she said, eyes fixed on the wall. “Some of the people in town here...” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head slightly, dismissing whatever it was she had been about to say. She turned then to retrieve a bag of caps out of a filing cabinet and pressed them into my hands. It felt hefty, but I didn’t open it to count. “Here. For your trouble."

"Ms. Perkins, I didn't do it for money. I can’t accept this – I came here to hire Valentine, not for a payday.”

“It’s just Ellie. And really, I have to insist—“ she said, interrupted by the opening of the door behind me. I used the distraction to push the bag firmly back into her hands.

"Well, look who it is," Valentine said, entering the now even-more-cramped office as I turned to look at him. He didn't seem surprised to see me.

"I’ve been meaning to check in on you,” I said, by way of greeting. “You never mentioned how long Malone had you down there, but from what Ellie’s been telling me, it sounds like it was a while. You doing okay?”

He blinked, as if I’d surprised him with the question. “...It was a couple of weeks, yeah. Aside from Darla whacking me one with that bat of hers, I'm none the worse for wear. But I don’t think you came here to ask after my health, General. Take a seat. You’ve got a case for me, don’t you? That incident that isn’t exactly Minutemen business?”

I did as he said, and he slipped around me to take a seat on the other side of the desk. "Hey, I can have more than one reason for doing something. I really did mean to check in on you, you know. But... alright, the case.” I wasn’t surprised that he’d seen through me, but I hadn’t expected to get down to business so quickly. “Before I get into the details, I need to know something. Can I rely on the both of you for absolute confidentiality? If a whisper of this gets to... say, Ms. Wright at the papers, I'm in a bad position."

Piper Wright had already shaken me down for one interview, and I’d barely managed to keep her focus on my work with the Minutemen. She’d been curious about my background, and although I put her off with vague deflections I knew I’d only bought myself a bit of time until she cornered me again.

"Absolutely. Piper knows she's not going to get diddly out of me, no matter how much of Vadim's special stock she plies me with," Ellie said.

"The same goes for me,” Nick said. “As my client, you get priority. If you say I need to play it close to the chest? That's how I'll play it.”

I only had the strength of their promises to rely on, but I'd made my choice before walking in the door. I had to accept the risk of trusting them to have a chance to learn more about Valentine. He was going to be the key.

"Okay. So, as I said earlier – there was an attack on a Vault, Vault 111. We... were in cryofreeze," I started. I hadn’t told so much as the dog about any of this since it’d happened, and I didn’t expect the wave of emotion that tightened my voice. I tried to push through it. "The pods were supposed to be for decontamination, but the facility was so cold... I should have known better than to trust those shady Vault-Tec bastards. Nora’d convinced me to sign up, and everything had happened so quickly…"

"Wait," Ellie interrupted me. "Cryofreeze? Are you telling us...?"

"That I’m a bit older than I look? Yeah.” I rested my elbows on the edge of the desk and leaned forward, gazing down. “But I’m getting off-track. Going into the Vault isn’t the part that matters.”

“The last time we spoke, you mentioned something about an incident, an attack. So someone came in while you were on ice?” Valentine prompted, and it was only then that I realized that I’d fallen silent for a little too long.

“Yes. I don't know how long we were frozen after the bombs dropped, but… it seemed like only seconds later, when I woke up. There were people there, in the Vault, and it wasn't the staff. No blue suits, no lab coats.” Even back then, as muddled as my thoughts had been, I’d known something was wrong. “I heard voices. I heard my godson crying, and a gunshot. I couldn’t understand what was going on, until... later. I don't know how much later. I woke up again, and this time the pod released me. The people who’d come into the Vault were gone, and everyone else was dead. There was no sign of Shaun.”

Valentine's eyes were locked on my face the entire time I spoke. Before, that scrutiny had felt hard to bear. Now it was almost comforting to know that he hadn't allowed a single detail to slip by him. His help wasn’t the only thing I was after from him, but it meant more to me than I really wanted it to. I had an angle I needed to stick to, and already I was slipping.

"You poor thing," Ellie said, taking a half-step towards me, and then hesitating before pivoting to the hotplate and teapot. Maybe she’d mistaken my irritation at myself for a need to be comforted.

Something wordless passed between her and Valentine, and there wasn't another sound in the office until there was a steaming cup of hubflower tea in front of me. I had to admit, the scent did do a bit to soothe me.

"Did you get a glimpse of any of them?" Ellie asked, once the tea had cooled enough for me to take a sip. “I know you said you were disoriented at the time, but any detail could help.”

"Two of them were wearing white hazmat suits," I said, clutching the mug like a lifeline and gazing at my reflection. "Though I don’t know what hazards they thought they’d find in a sealed Vault. The third one, though. He was dressed rougher, almost like a scavver or a merc now that I think about it."

Ellie paused and caught Valentine’s eye, and darted into the back of the office to rummage in a filing cabinet. While she was busy, Valentine asked,"This is important, now. Do you remember if he had any distinguishing features? A merc’s clothes aren’t much to go on."

I closed my eyes and tried to bring the memory back. I'd only gotten a glimpse of the man in passing, through frosted glass. He hadn't considered me important enough to even look at, but if I saw him again I thought I’d recognize him. "I think there was something wrong with his face. But it was so brief, and I was disoriented. I couldn't say for certain."

Ellie handed Valentine a thick file, stained with coffee rings and filled with dog-eared papers. “I know it’d be a hell of a coincidence; plenty of mercenaries have facial wounds. But given the timing… doesn’t this remind you of Kellogg?”

"It does. And he had a kid living with him, didn’t he?” Valentine looked at Ellie, who nodded. “Conrad Kellog is merc that was living here in Diamond City until recently. Say, how old was your godson?" Valentine asked.

"A baby. Not even a year old. But... I don't know how long I was in cryofreeze, after the... incident." Was it possible that they had a lead so close to hand? "What does the kid look like? How old is he?"

"About ten, I'd think," Valentine said. "Brown hair, brown eyes... I never saw much of him, but he always seemed cleaner than anyone else in this scrapheap of a town. It might be cold comfort, but that suggests Kellogg looked after him, at least."

It was too a vague of a description to know for sure. "Maybe it was my godson, and maybe it wasn't. But you – the two of you. You've gotten further on this thing in five minutes than I have in the six months I've been on the surface. Christ. And I was running through other Vaults looking for just a trace of the bastard."

"You've been putting the Minutemen back on their feet, too, from the sounds of it. And I have to say, having you digging around in old Vaults certainly turned out alright for me," Valentine said, with a bit of humor in his voice.

I knew he was trying to cheer me up, but I couldn’t even force a smile. "Still. When I think about Nora's little boy in the company of that murderer, for ten years…”

"Hey, hey. Whoever's behind this, they went through a lot of trouble to take him. I'm sure he's physically unharmed, wherever he is. We'll track him down, alright? And you can tell him all about who his mom and dad were."

My hands tightened around the mug as I stared into it, like it held any kind of answer for me. "It's not enough. Ten years is a lot to make up for. But... you said, whoever's behind this? Kellogg's employer, you mean?"

"No one knows who he works for," Ellie said, flipping through the file. "But they pay him well enough to afford a house in the West Stands. Although… No one’s been seen coming in or out of it for months, now. And no one’s seen him, that I’ve heard of."

"And this was a pretty detailed operation," Valentine added. "Hmm... there aren't many groups with both the money and the finesse for something like that. Most of them would’ve come calling on you for a ransom, though. The likeliest suspect is the Institute. Kidnapping isn’t anything new for them, but this is the first I've heard of them taking an infant."

"I'd come to that conclusion myself," I admitted, after a moment's hesitation. There was playing your cards close to your chest and there was been needlessly obtuse. "That's why I was so insistent on confidentiality – if I've got the biggest, most powerful enemy in the entire Commonwealth, all I can do is hope they don't know I'm on their tail."

Valentine raised an eyebrow at me. “You don’t play games, do you? It’s war for you. And you had to vet your allies.”

I was glad he didn’t seem to take offense. “Which is why you’ll likely have had someone mention to you that I’ve been asking questions around town about your history, yeah.” Whitman wasn’t the only person I’d asked during the last week, and I’d gotten an interesting collection of information. It was something that either he’d heard or would hear soon, and since the topic was up I wanted to get ahead of it. “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s clear enough to me that you’re unaffiliated with them, but… you can imagine that someone in my position would be somewhat interested in _how long_ you’ve been unaffiliated with them.”

He chuckled. “You know, you shouldn’t take it so hard that you didn’t turn up a lead on this thing; it’s only chance that Kellogg has been on our radar for a while now. With an attitude like yours, you wouldn’t make a half-bad detective.”

“You know, Nick,” Ellie said, with a thoughtful tone. “I’ve been telling you for a while that you should take on a partner…”

“Hey, now. The General here already has a job, and she’s got a case of her own—“

“Actually, it’s not a bad idea,” I said, interrupting them. I hadn’t even thought to hope for an opportunity like this; having him take the case was one thing but working together with him was ideal. I couldn’t let this slip away. “As I see it, you help people who are in trouble. It aligns pretty closely with my work in the Minutemen. If you don’t mind that I’ll have to balance my responsibilities, I’d welcome the chance to work with you, Mr. Valentine.”

“Heh. Well, I know when I’m outnumbered. But if we’re going to be partners, you’re going to have to call me Nick. Not much use for formality, these days.”

“Old habits,” I said with a shrug. I’d noticed early on that few people these days bothered with addressing people by surname, and doing it I was able to keep people at a certain distance. Going on a first-name basis as partners would make that more difficult; I didn’t want to get so familiar with him that it affected my observations. I’d have to be careful.

“Well, back to what you were saying… as far as the Institute is concerned, I’m just an old prototype. They tossed me out with the garbage when they were done with me, and haven’t come knocking since. It’s not like I’d be hard for them to find me if they were interested. Neon signs, and all.”

I just about choked on my tea at the thought. _Thrown out_? What the hell was going on at the Institute if that was standard practice? Sure, I was a little behind on the state of the art, but to think that they’d decided there was nothing more to be learned from him… I couldn’t fathom it. I was in the middle of a scheme to take advantage of his kindness, but the idea of discarding a whole _person_ was just horrifying. I don’t know why I expected better from them – they hadn’t exactly earned the benefit of the doubt from me.

When I managed to speak, it was difficult to keep my voice even. “I’m so sorry – with the escapees, at least they know they’ll be going into a whole new world. Not even having the choice… I can’t imagine the shock it must have been for you. Or… well. I guess I can imagine it a little too well.“

“That’s… one way of looking at it,” he said slowly, looking startled.

“I like to think that it’s a case of one man’s trash is another’s treasure,” Ellie said with a wink. “Those idiots don’t even know what they lost out on.”

I reached out and squeezed the bare metal of Nick’s hand. “I guess we’re two peas in a pod on this Institute-fucking-with-us thing. They won’t know what’s coming when we hit them back.”

Just slightly, his hand twitched under mine, as if he was suppressing an urge to pull it away. I took my own hand away, wondering if I’d caused him pain or if he just didn’t care to be touched. “Anyway,” I said, a little awkwardly. “Ellie, you said Kellogg’s house is abandoned?”

“Yeah,” she replied, eyes lingering on my hand for a beat longer. “Security doesn’t go to that part of town much, but you two should still be careful. If anyone spotted you going in there…”

“News would get around,” I finished for her. “Dead of night with Stealth Boys, then?”

“I think I’m going to like the way you operate,” Nick said, breaking his silence. Apparently we weren’t going to talk about my gaff. “But those don’t exactly come cheap.”

“Lucky for us, I have a habit of wandering into pre-war ruins and taking the best prizes home with me,” I said. “I’ve got a few stashed away…” My voice trailed off when I noticed Ellie was struggling to contain a fit of giggles and that Nick was using the brim of his hat to avoid my gaze. I mentally replayed what I’d said, and then I had to laugh, too. “Well, am I wrong? Not that you’re any common salvage, Nick.”

He was more interesting to me than any damned salvage I ever could’ve hoped to find, and I think I would’ve felt the same even if I didn’t want to know every detail of how he ticked. Working together would give me the perfect vantage point to study him in detail and whether or not this Kellogg lead bore fruit, I’d still come out of this with more information about the Institute than I’d expected when I’d gone down into Vault 114.


	5. Chapter 5

After leaving the agency, I spent most of what remained of the day haggling in the marketplace for supplies Whitman had mentioned that the outpost needed. He was settling into his role well and likely could have handled the negotiations himself, but I wanted to be seen around town today.

Thinking of myself as a public figure was something that’d taken me a bit of getting used to, but I’d learned that my absence could be conspicuous as my presence. My hope was that as long as people saw me out and about, they wouldn’t start wondering what I was up to in my free time. I especially wanted to avoid that kind of scrutiny over the next day or so.

Whitman was just closing up for the day when I returned with the supplies. I’d found nearly everything on his list, though the potted plants he’d asked for to ‘liven the place up’ would have to wait for another time. Traders rarely bothered with anything that bulky unless it sold for a large pile of caps. I promised him I’d try to make the arrangements, and he went home for the night.

There were hours left before I was supposed to meet Nick -- plenty of time for a short nap. I just wanted to get enough shut-eye to ensure I wasn’t yawning my way through our little operation.

But halfway into a pleasant dream, I woke to loud insistent banging on the door. As soon as my eyes were open, I was stumbling downstairs and cursing myself as I went.

“You forgetting about something?” Nick asked as soon as I got the door open, taking in the sight of me. Barefoot and disheveled, I couldn’t have been making a good impression as a new partner. Of all the times not to set an alarm, I had to have done it that night.

“Ugh,” I groaned, letting him in and closing the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to stand you up. I just… oh, the excuse doesn't matter, I know you can see I overslept. Just let me get changed, and I’ll be right with you.”

I didn’t intend for either of us to be seen tonight, but with two-hundred-plus year old salvaged Stealth Boys that’d been stored in conditions ranging from godawful to unknown, I wasn’t certain things would go according to plan. A change of clothes would at least make me harder to recognize, especially in the dark. I’d have asked Nick to swap out his unique coat and hat, but I doubted that any disguise would make a difference. The way his eyes shone was unmistakable.

“Nice place you’re setting up here,” he said, when I came back downstairs. “If this is any indication of what you’ve been doing with the settlements you look after, the Commonwealth is in good hands.”

“It’s work that needs doing,” I replied awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. I could have named any of a dozen people I’d known before the war who’d have done the same or better in my shoes. I’d just been the woman on the spot, and I was using that spot as a means to an end. Praise for it left me feeling cold. “Anyway, here’s your Stealth Boy. We’ll turn the lights out in here and go out through the roof. As soon as we’re out there we’ll activate them, and you can lead the way.”

“Heh. You’re pretty quick to give orders, you know that?” There was no real complaint in his voice, but I took it as a warning anyway. He wasn’t one of my Minutemen, and I didn’t have any business commanding him. Partners meant we'd be on even footing.

\--

We made our way to Kellogg’s house without issue. It was dead quiet in town at this time of night, and the deep shadows only helped us. Maybe the Stealth Boys had been a little overkill in the paranoia department, but the extra layer of security at least offered me peace of mind.

“Damn,” Nick muttered, as yet another broken bobby pin fell from what looked like thin air. Kellogg hadn’t neglected security for his home, even if he’d abandoned it. “This lock’s beyond me. You want to take a stab at it?”

I couldn’t help grinning. I liked a challenge nearly as much as I liked a chance to show off. “Sure.” Unable to see where he was, I bumped into him slightly as I knelt in front of the door. He shuffled out of the way, but I could hear the soft whirring of his internal machinery and I could tell he wasn’t far.

The task was a little harder since I couldn’t see my own hands, but my third attempt yielded a satisfying click.

“You know, you’re a little too good at that,” Nick said, as we entered the house. I tried to squash down the smug feeling that came with the praise. At least he couldn’t see my face.

“Just a little trick I picked up as a kid,” I replied lightly. Picking locks had gotten out of as much trouble as it’d gotten me into over the years, and it was rare I came across one that stumped me for long.  
  
Once we were both inside Kellogg's house, I paused my Stealth Boy and glanced around the place. It was tidier than most of the shacks I'd seen in the wastes, which was surprising. I didn't think mercenaries were known for their conscientious housekeeping.  
  
"Place seems a little small, don't you think?" Nick asked, emerging from thin air.  
  
"Yeah. Come to think of it, I think it looked a bit bigger from the outside." The two of us spread out, looking for anything out of place like a loose wall panel or a hidden lever.

Kellogg hadn't exactly left anything out in the open, though, and the place hardly seemed lived in. Maybe he'd just packed up well on his way out of town.

I thought he might’ve missed something in the desk, but I spotted the button underneath before I even had a drawer open. It was so obvious that I couldn’t help but groan.  
  
"What? You find something?"  
  
I pressed a large red button and a panel of the western wall slid open. "Really, Kellogg? You go through the effort of hiding a whole room, and you make it this easy to open?”  
  
"Probably didn't expect anyone to get in here and live long enough to find it," Nick said, shaking his head. "Well, look what’s here. He lived well, didn’t he?"  
  
There was a decent supply of food, chems, and ammunition – but nothing I'd really call a clue. "Gotta wonder why he even hid this stuff in the first place. It's not like the guy would've been worried about casual thieves."  
  
"He probably took anything incriminating with him when he skipped town," Nick said, running his hand over the small table. "Huh. San Francisco Sunlights. Interesting brand to find in the 'Wealth."  
  
"So the merc had rich tastes. That doesn't tell us anyth-- hey. Wait a minute. If they're that unusual..." My voice trailed off as I thought through the problem. "Okay, hear me out. If this is his regular brand, the smell would cling to him, right? And there's a dog I know with a good nose--"  
  
"Let me stop you right there, Nancy Drew," Nick said. I couldn't tell if he was irritated or just stifling the urge to laugh at me. "Nobody's seen Kellogg in town for at least six months, and a scent trail only lasts a few weeks under optimal conditions – which we haven’t had since the bombs fell. It might’ve been a valid option if you'd come to me first thing out of the vault, but now... I'm sorry. It looks like the trail is cold. We're going to have to find another angle to come at this thing by."  
  
I flushed. Who did I think I was, trying to play clever on an investigation with an actual detective? If it'd been a legitimate option, he'd have suggested it himself. "Ah. Well – uh. They never mentioned that in the pulp novels," I said, looking away.  
  
He chuckled. "You've got good instincts. Ellie's insistence or no, I wouldn't have agreed to this partners thing if I didn't think you could were smart enough for it. You just need to learn what’s best left in the pulps, and what works in the here and now. We'll find your kid, even if we have to canvass the entire Commonwealth for witnesses. Keep your chin up."  
  
"Thanks, Nick," I said. He had such a reassuring sincerity in his voice that I couldn’t help smiling a little. Silence fell between us as we gave a last look over Kellogg’s home. "Why don't we call it a night? I'll drop in on you at the agency tomorrow, and we'll put our heads together on our next move."  
  
"Good plan," he said. "I know you were asleep when I turned up, but you should try and get some real rest. I don't want to see you before the afternoon, alright?"

\--

I let myself into the agency and dropped into a chair without a word, exhausted. Nick looked over at me from across the room, a stack of files under his arm. "I thought I told you to get some rest?"  
  
"I tried," I said, taking a moment to rest my eyes. "But after I got back, I just couldn’t get to sleep. Ended up mending my armor until I passed out sometime after dawn.”  
  
"Heh. Why don't I fix you some coffee and we'll get started?" He set the files down and turned to the hotplate. To my surprise, he pulled out a canister of genuine freeze-dried instant coffee. Most of the substances people called coffee these days were depressing substitutes made of roasted grain and chicory root, but Nick apparently kept a secret supply of the real thing. Could he even drink it himself? With what I'd seen of the inside of his neck, I couldn't imagine how.

He seemed to be fixing two mugs, which gave me an answer of a sort. But having that piece of information only made me more curious – the synth I’d examined after ArcJet certainly had no apparatus for consuming fluids, never mind tasting them. Why had the Institute given Nick the ability, and how exactly did it work? Did he utilize the fluid at all, or just hold it internally? Maybe I’d try asking another time, once I’d gotten to know him a bit better. No one liked an interrogation about bodily processes.

Instead, I decided to flatter him a little.  
  
"You’re a saint. Is this what working with you is going to be like?" If he was going to spoil me like this, I was going to have a hard time keeping enough detachment to study him effectively from. "Or are you just trying to butter me up before sticking me with some grunt work?"  
  
"I’ve been called plenty of things in my time, but never that,” he said with a hint of a laugh. “Anyway, there isn't really much grunt work in this business aside from all the walking. The hard part is shaking down leads, getting witnesses to talk... and establishing timelines. Which is what I wanted to go over with you today."  
  
He set a steaming mug down in front of me with his exposed hand, and I reached out for it before quickly pulling my hand away and cursing. I’d missed the handle and grabbed the side instead, burning myself.  
  
Nick startled. "What – oh, damn! Are you alright?”  
  
I shook my hand out. The skin where I'd touched the mug smarted, but the burn wasn't really all that bad. "Ehh, nothing I haven't done to myself a hundred times over. Don't worry about it, I won’t even need a stim.”  
  
“I really am sorry about that, I should've thought to warn you. I can feel pressure with that hand, and new damage is still painful… but I lost the ability to sense temperature when the skin got torn off, years ago.”  
  
"Hey. It's fine, alright?” I said, pressing my hand to the cool surface of the metal desk. Maybe I didn’t need to waste a whole stim on the burn, but I’d probably put a salve on once I was out of his sight. There was no need to make him feel badly about it. “You know... back before the war, I was a mechanic. Ran a repair shop, mostly focusing on robotics. I’m a little behind the times, but if you ever wanted me to take a look at that hand for you, see if there was something I could do..."  
  
He seemed to draw back away from me without actually moving. "Uh. I usually handle my own maintenance myself. But I'll... I’ll keep that in mind."  
  
I paused. It was a strange reaction, and I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Maybe it'd just been too forward of me. Maybe he'd gotten a whiff of how eager I was to get a close look at what made him tick. Either way, he seemed spooked and I needed to back off. "Gotcha. Anyway, you said something about establishing a timeline?"  
  
He sat down across from me, plainly relieved at the change of topic. "Well, I've been thinking. It seems like a little bit too much of a coincidence that Kellogg split town right around the same time you crawled out of the Vault, doesn't it?"  
  
"...Huh. You’re right. So how the hell did he find out?"  
  
"Well, I remember that Travis reported on a rumor about someone in a Vault suit around the same time... Kellogg probably just heard that and figured you'd wash up in Diamond City sooner or later. But that raises a question for us."

I hadn’t started listening to the radio on my pip-boy until well after I’d brought Preston Garvey’s group back to Sanctuary, and I hadn’t heard that particular broadcast myself. Once I’d tuned in, though, there’d been a steady trickle of updates about the Minutemen in general, and myself in particular. It’d made me a little uneasy then, but now it seemed downright suspicious.  
  
"Yeah, who saw me in that vault suit? I torched it after less than a week topside, and I thought Codsworth was the only one to see me in it. It’s not like he’d have had a reason to tell anyone."  
  
"Codsworth?"  
  
"Nora and Nate's Mr. Handy. Two centuries waxing rusted cars and trimming dead shrubbery took their toll on him, but I don't think he's the snitch."  
  
"Huh. Most of them've gone a little batty, haven't they? If their combat inhibitors haven’t failed, then they’re usually still floating around going through the motions of their old programming like the war never happened. It’s a little hard to say about other ‘bots, but they tend to give me the willies when they get like that."  
  
"He wasn't doing too well, until I got some settlers into the place for him to look after. It's the isolation and lack of purpose that does it, I think.” Rumor back before the war had it that General Atomics made them needy and neurotic by design, to make them more servile. I know I had more come through my shop needing a therapist more than a greasemonkey. “Anyway, he’s just as concerned about getting Shaun back as I am, and I made it clear I was keeping things quiet. He wouldn’t have told anyone. Someone else must have seen me and thought that I’d be newsworthy, but didn't see fit to actually talk to me.”  
  
"It’s unsettling, to say the least. Whoever it was would've had to have been ready and waiting for you to come out of there. I don't see who else would have that kind of information other than the Institute. And if they knew you were coming out... I hate to say it, but I think they let you out for a reason. There's something they want you to do out here."  
  
"... And I probably haven't been out of their crosshairs since then, either." I sighed. "Great." I was starting to understand, somewhat, just why the average Commonwealth settler was so paranoid about. Anyone could be an informant. It almost didn't matter how careful I was; my work with the Minutemen would make it absolutely trivial to keep tabs on my activities.  
  
"So they're a few steps ahead. That doesn't mean we can't catch them up. I think the next thing we need to do is pay a visit to Travis and ask after his sources.”

–-

Nick paused outside of Travis' trailer, and stopped me when I went to knock on the door. "He's on the air. Give it a moment, until the music starts. Last thing we need is him panicking for everyone to listen in on."

"Huh," I said, for a lack of a more clever response. I hadn't heard a thing through the trailer's metal walls. "Your hearing must be a hell of a lot better than mine."

"And so is my sense of direction. It helps having a map built in, but most folks don't quite need one strapped to their wrist to find their way around here in town."

So he’d noticed.

"Yeah, and most folks don't go diving in scary pre-war ruins rescuing stray detectives like they were kittens, either. Be glad I'm a bit of an odd duck, will you?" I shot back. I knew I had a lousy sense of direction and I tried not to be so sensitive about it, but it was a sore spot. "Is he off the air yet?"

Nick fixed me with a look and then tilted his head towards the door. "... Yeah, we're clear. Come on."

Travis got up from his seat when we let ourselves in, and nearly tripped. I caught him by the upper arm so he wouldn’t fall, and he flinched away. "I, uh. I don't usually have visitors here in the studio," he said. I stepped back away from him, and held my hands up to show him I didn't mean any harm. That seemed to calm him marginally, but then his eyes darted over to Nick, who was still in the doorway.

"Easy, Travis. It's just that you've mentioned my friend here a couple of times now on the radio, and I figured it was about time we had a chat. You can keep the music going while we talk, can't you? We won't be long." he said, stepping more fully inside. The trailer wasn't large, and with the three of us and the radio equipment it was fairly crowded. Travis took a seat, but I decided to stay standing.

"Uhhh, I mean, alright, I guess? I don't know what there is to talk about, though? Mostly I say good things about you. Always! I mean always. The Minutemen are good news, and listeners like good news. If, uh, anyone's listening..."

"I listen," I said softly, trying to soothe down the hackles I'd somehow raised. He was just as much of a wreck in person as he was on air. "And most of the settlements I work with have a radio or two playing your station. You've got a wide audience, Travis. And that feeds into a little problem I have."

"R-Really? I, uh, but how could me having an audience be a bad thing? I guess I don't understand."

"Well... can you keep a secret, Travis? I need your help, and I'm trusting you with this. It can't get out on the radio, do you understand?"

Again, Travis' eyes darted between me and Nick. The question hung in the air why he was here.

"I... well, I don't like to keep things from people, but if Detective Valentine is here with you about it, it must be pretty important. So, uh. I can keep it secret. You can trust me," he said.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, making a big show of looking vulnerable and deciding to trust him. He was going to get a sanitized story just in case.

"Right," I said, as I opened my eyes to meet his. "I've been having a bit of a problem with a stalker. They've been... they've been following me for months now. I don't know who they are; I've never seen their face. And every time I hear about myself on the radio, I have to wonder. Who told you about what I did? Is it the stalker, or someone working with them? Why are they so obsessed with me? Is it going to escalate from this? I can't ignore it anymore. It's why I hired Mr. Valentine here, and why I've come to you. I need help, Travis. I need you to tell me everything about whoever its that tells you what I'm up to."

"Even just a description would help," Nick added, beside me. I hadn't told him about how I'd play Travis, but he seemed content to go along with my lead. "We need to find out what's going on and stop it, before Vera gets hurt. Stalkers almost never just get distracted and forget about their victims. This isn't something that's going to go away."

"I, gosh. A stalker. That's pretty... bad. Yeah. Um, I don't usually reveal my sources, but if someone’s _using_ me to try and hurt you, I can't allow that! I just, I can't!”

He ran both hands through his hair and took a series of deep breaths. I waited for him to continue.

“So uh, there's this guy. And he's bald. And I don't see him very often? Mostly I hear about what you and the Minutemen are up to from listening to what people talk about down at the Dugout. But this guy, he comes by sometimes? With other news? Not always about the Minutemen, or you. Sometimes, it’s just … really random? Like this one time, he wanted me to air a piece about someone he saw coming out of some vault. It’s not really _news_ , you know? But on a slow day, it fills airtime. If I’d known he was a, well, a creep! I wouldn’t have aired anything he said. I--”

"So he was bald," Nick prompted, interrupting Travis. Out of all his rambling, that was the only useful thing he’d said. "Anything else about him? Did he say where he was from? What kind of business he was involved in?"

"Nooo, no, nothing like that. He was always chatty, but not about himself. Though I think he used to be with the guards? I definitely used to see him around town more, in the uniform. But lately when he comes by he’s been dressed in really ratty clothes, and the other guards don’t seem to know who I’m talking about when I ask?”

"Well, listen,” Nick said. “If he comes back again, don't let on we were asking about him. Pretend like everything's normal, and put what he tells you on the news. Then let us know about it, okay? We're going to track him down and figure out what his game is."

"I can really help? Just, just by – uh, pretending like I'm not helping?" Travis asked, obviously confused by the idea. "I can do that, of course. I will do that. But…"

"We'll take care of the rest," I told him, smiling. "Thank you, Travis. I'll let you know what happens, okay?"

"Y-yeah, okay. I, uh, I've played three songs in a row now, though. I need to get back on the air soon or someone's going to come throw rocks at my trailer again and ask if I'm dead. The last time they did that it took me a week to fix it..."

"We'll be going," Nick said, and we both made our way out as Travis picked up his microphone and began speaking. To my relief, he said nothing of our visit.

\--

As soon as we were down the steps, I let out a sigh. "God, he wants to help, but that's basically useless. An anonymous, bald drifter that may or may not have posed as a guard. How are we supposed to track anyone like that down?"

"Well," Nick said, thoughtfully. "Drifters almost always wash up in Goodneighbor, sooner or later. Unless our guy has died since he last reported in on you, we could set up camp there and stake him out. And Mayor Hancock keeps a pretty good eye on who flows in and out of his little burg."

"Hmm... He still owes me for a job I did for him a while back. I don't think he'll buy the stalker story, though, and I don't really want to find out what happens if I try to pull a fast one on him. He stabbed a guy for hassling me, first time I walked into town."

"Heh, so you're acquainted," Nick said. "He's a wildcard, but he's a friend of mine and you can trust him. It's your call how much we loop him in on, but..."

"... But it's not a bad strategy to ask for help when I need it," I said, repeating Nick's own words from the day we’d met.

He smiled at me with the afternoon sun catching on the metal of his jaw. The light flashed almost too brightly for me to look directly at.

It was about then that I realized something. I was curious about the code that drove him, sure. I was curious about why he smoked, about how he could drink, and a thousand other things about him. I was still committed to using him as a way to learn more about what the Institute was up to.

But it wasn't my curiosity that made me want to see him smile again -- or to want to be the cause of that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout's timeline diverges from our own around WWII. Since the Nancy Drew series predates that, I figure it'd be something Nick would be familiar with. That said, I expect the version he knows is very different from what we know.


	6. Chapter 6

  
We decided to set out for Goodneighbor just before dawn of the next day. The hope was that by leaving early, we'd cover the distance before most raiders could crawl out from under their hangovers. No hour of the day was perfectly safe, but I figured if I was a raider blitzed out of my gourd, I’d want to sleep through the sunrise. 

Travel time within the city ruins was never predictable, but it had rarely taken me more than a couple of hours to get from Diamond City to Goodneighbor on previous trips. In the worst case scenario we’d arrive by the afternoon. 

Well, the true worst case was ending up as stuffing in a mutie’s gore bag. But I tried not to let my mind linger on that thought. 

Before we started out for the day I wanted to do something about Nick’s gun. Sure, a pipe revolver was better than going unarmed, but I’d learned quickly that they were anything but reliable. Why he used it was a puzzle to me – caps apparently weren’t an issue, given how Ellie had tried to reward me. So if he could afford an upgrade, then either Arturo was taking a page out of Myrna’s book by refusing his business or Nick had his own reasons.

I decided to let the detective keep his little mystery to himself, but I did offer him a .44 that I’d found while out scavving not too long ago. Someone had clearly put some love into modifying it from stock, and I hadn’t had the heart to sell such a piece of craftsmanship. Still, I never found myself reaching for it and it belonged in the hands of someone who’d get good use out of it. 

He seemed a little taken aback when I’d pressed it into his hands but accepted it without complaint. I happened to notice that he kept the revolver anyway, tucked safely away into a coat pocket.

It was only worth a pittance of caps, so holding onto it as a backup made sense. But I still wondered at him.

\--

I thought about letting Nick lead the way again, but I'd lived in the greater Boston area for most of my adult life. Rubble or no rubble, I should've been able to get from one part of the city to another. With a quick glance at my pip-boy, I set off. He hesitated a moment before following along. 

"I won't insult you by asking if you know the way," he said, and his tone was friendly enough that I didn't feel needled by the comment. "But I really don't mind taking the lead on directions while we're traveling together. We're out here as a team."

"Maybe I rely on the map a little much, but I'm not entirely hopeless." I was far too stubborn to take him up on his very reasonable suggestion. Instead, I checked my map again and threaded through a ruined intersection. "I did manage to find Vault 114 without the benefit of your help."

Nick hummed wordlessly in response, and I knew he was humoring me. If I veered us too far off track, he was sure to speak up – but I wasn’t stupid enough to deliberately test the idea. 

For a while, we were making decent progress. Nick’s sensitive hearing let us avoid most of the usual hazards, aside from the lone feral that I managed to trip right over. Somehow I felt worse for disturbing the poor bastard’s nap than for putting him out of his misery.

It was starting to seem like we’d make record time to Goodneighbor when without warning, the air seemed to thicken and darken around us. I could taste the ozone as the sky grew sickly and green. A crash of thunder and the clicking of my pip-boy’s geiger counter heralded the arrival of a radstorm, and the downpour came on suddenly.

“We’ve got to get you inside,” Nick said, hauling me by the arm to shelter in a doorway as I popped a rad-x tablet. “That isn’t going to hold you over for long, and there’s no telling how long this is going to last. These early spring storms can be nastier than anything you’ll see all winter long.”

Winter had come and gone without snowfall, but not without rain that found its way through every crack in a building and chilled your bones. I’d thought that halfway through March we would have seen the worst of it over with, but the tick-tick-ticking from my wrist suggested that Nick knew what he was talking about. 

We’d have to find shelter quickly. Most of the buildings around us were securely boarded up, and I didn’t like our chances of trying to pry our way in during a storm. 

According to my pip-boy we weren’t far from the Mass Bay Medical Center. I knew the area was held by Gunners, but fighting through them for shelter was still a better option than pressing on through the storm – Nick was right that there was no telling how long it could last. Some seemed to pass by in minutes, while others could span up to a day. There was no time to dither about it, and it wasn’t like we had a wealth of better options to choose from.

As quietly as we could, we crept up towards the hospital. The turrets were still whirring away, but I couldn’t see anyone outside. 

“Think they’ve battened down the hatches to wait this thing out?” Nick asked. Thunder crashed again and my pip-boy’s complaints reached a crescendo. If there was anyone lurking about, even Nick’s hearing wouldn’t have been able to pick them out over the din. 

“Probably.” Something about it didn’t seem right to me, despite it being exactly what I’d do in the same scenario. “But we’re going to have to find out.” 

I lobbed a grenade at the closest turret and we both ducked for cover. Once the blast settled we raced for the door.

\--

There was no one guarding the reception area where we entered, and it wasn’t like Gunners to be so careless with security – I’d expected to find another turret, or a bouquet of grenades at the least. One glance at Nick told me that he had the same uneasy feeling about it that I did.

He held my gaze and pointed upstairs before making a sort of horizontal movement with his hand.  
The best I could figure from his gesture was that there was danger up there. I strained to hear, and could just about catch the vague murmur of voices. I wouldn’t have even noticed them if he hadn’t drawn my attention. 

It was impossible to tell how many people there were up there, but if Nick thought our chances were better down here then I was inclined to trust his judgment. 

As silently as we could we crept through the foyer and away from the stairs. There was a small cafeteria that would offered good cover, as long as none of the Gunners above us decided to come looking for a snack. For my own part, I’d have been willing to let them have the all the moldy pre-war food they wanted. 

If we were very lucky we could’ve possibly hidden out here and slipped out the rear door when the storm ended. Even if the Gunners heard us leaving, we’d have a running start – they didn’t like to give chase away from their fortified positions. But if we were unlucky and had to fight it out where we were, at least we would have the element of surprise on our side. 

For the first half an hour or so it was fine. Our unwitting companions were happy enough to stay upstairs, and although I’d have liked the chance to towel off, I was fine dripping dry in a corner. But eventually nature called and I had to risk scuttling across the hall to what remained of the restrooms.

It was on my way back that things went awry. One of the Gunners had apparently come downstairs to take care of his own business, and we caught each other up in the foyer. I was quicker on the draw than he was, but the shot that took him down was enough to raise the alarm for the rest of them. 

“Betsy!” A voice roared from somewhere up above. “Go handle that!”

“Affirmative,” came the low, calm voice of an assaultron. “Intruders will be neutralized.”

I rolled to cover behind the restroom wall just as ‘Betsy’ raced down the stairs. There were gunshots almost immediately – Nick was firing on her to get her attention off me. She could take him out just as quickly as she could me, and I was an even mix of grateful and furious at him for risking himself like that.

But if he could make his own risky choices in a fight, so could I. There was a nasty little trick hidden up my sleeve, and if I succeeded we weren’t going to have any problems with the Gunners upstairs no matter how many there happened to be. 

Cutting through the restrooms and out through the other door, I jumped up onto the assaultron’s back. I tried to latch my legs around her torso for stability but she bucked me off before I could manage it. I hit the elevator door at an angle and dropped to the floor, briefly stunned.

Nick didn’t know what I was up to, but it must have been clear to him that I had a plan – once again, he distracted her with a round of fire. With her attention on him and my senses returning to me, I got my back to my feet and circled around. As soon as he stopped to reload I took another chance at mounting her back. This time, thankfully, I got my legs around her middle and an arm hooked around her neck before she could throw me off.

She didn’t bother. Instead, she began charging her laser and trying to maneuver Nick into a corner. I knew I only had a few seconds to stop her from turning him to ash. If I fell or failed, it’d be over for him. 

It was a struggle to stay on her while desperately trying to connect the cable from my pip-boy to the port at the back of her head. Even knowing where to find it didn’t mean much in the middle of a fight – but I felt the click of connection sinking home just as she fired off her laser. 

I turned my head away from the impossible heat and light before it faded and she stuttered to a halt as the injection code ran through her systems. 

Leaving the cable in place, I slid off her back and turned to find Nick getting to his feet. His coat was a little charred from the laser, but as he dusted himself off it seemed like he was alright. I let out a sigh in relief as I shifted my attention to the next part of the plan. Stopping the assaultron had only been the first step. Step two called for setting her against her former masters. That was a trickier bit of work to manage on the fly, and I was working against time.

He approached to look over my shoulder and see what I was doing, but I was too busy inputting commands on my pip-boy to spare him an explanation. He looked from me, to the frozen assaultron, and back again with a frown. 

There was an unspoken question, but before he could voice it one of our friends upstairs clued in that something had gone wrong. Shouting and the sound of boots racing towards the stairs were enough to tell me that I’d run out of time. 

I reached to unplug the cable, but Nick stopped my hand. “I’ll hold them off,” was all he said before running and taking the stairs two at a time. I could hear shouting, a solitary gunshot, and then the sound of a fight breaking out in earnest.

Without knowing my plan and without having any idea how likely I was to succeed, he’d put his trust in me to come up with something that’d get us through this alive. I swallowed the lump in my throat and got back to work. His gamble wouldn’t be for nothing.

It was hard to tune out the fight above, but soon I had what I needed – my pip-boy displayed a ten-word sequence that I recited out loud.

“Authorization sequence verified,” came the assaultron’s voice. I let out a sigh of relief and disconnected the cable as she continued to speak. “Prior organizational affiliations have been nullified. Awaiting commands.”

Ever since the news had come in about Somerville Place, the lingering problem of military robots had been on my mind. There was no way of knowing just how many were still active in the Commonwealth, or whose control they might be under. They posed a threat that couldn’t be ignored, but simply destroying them seemed like too much of a waste to me.

Far better to repurpose them. And between my career as a mechanic specializing in robotics and the one I’d had before that – I had just the right skillset to pull it off. This was the first successful test of the injection software I’d written and loaded onto my pip-boy.

The assaultron standing before me was now under my total control. 

“Eliminate all human hostiles on the upper floor of this facility and report back for further orders,” I said, being careful to speak clearly. “Do not engage with nonhuman combatants, or with noncombatants.” 

“Command accepted.” With those simple words and that fluid and horrifying grace common to assaultrons, she spun on her heel and raced up the stairs. 

The frenzy above quickly became mixed with confused screaming. It wasn’t long before silence fell.

I could only hope that Nick had found safety in the crossfire – my orders should have ensured he faced no danger from the assaultron, but I knew all too well how much of a threat Gunners could pose when they were entrenched somewhere.

My voice caught in my throat as I made my way up the stairs, calling out for him. I didn’t know what I’d have done if I’d found him hurt. He’d made it clear he didn’t want my help with repairs, and anyway I knew it was a two-person job to carry a synth that couldn’t move under their own power.

“Hell of a stunt, there,” he said, crawling out from the rubble. Relief flowed through me at the sight of him. His coat was worse for wear, charred and torn up more than it’d been when we’d left Diamond City, with an unidentifiable stain from whatever he’d been pressed up against. But clothes could be mended or replaced, and he didn’t seem worried about them. “Mind filling me in on just what the hell happened?” 

His eyes lingered on my pip-boy with transparent suspicion. The unspoken question was whether or not the same trick would work on him. In a strictly technical sense, abstracted from the man in front of me, I suppose the idea was interesting. 

One of the things I’d learned from studying the ArcJet synth that the Institute didn’t build their toys to play nice with standard hardware. If I was even going to attempt the job, I’d need a lot more information than I presently had access to.

But the technical aspect was only a passing thought. The idea of overriding the mind of someone complex enough to have a problem with it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I’d abandoned any real plans along that line at the moment I’d met Nick. 

One single look at him had been all it’d taken. 

“Just an old mechanic’s trick,” I said instead, as if I hadn’t caught his implication. The distinction between a plan considered and discarded and an active threat to his safety would be hard to explain. Better not to go down that road, if I could at all avoid it. “Military usually didn’t farm out repair jobs to workshops like mine, but once in a while we’d get an assaultron or a sentry bot in and need to … well, placate them, before we could start in on the work. I’m just glad the Gunners that reprogrammed this one weren’t clever enough to add in any real security of their own. Would’ve been in a pinch if that hadn’t worked.”

Before he could respond to that, the assaultron returned. She was covered in a sheen of blood and had a few new dings in her chassis, but on the whole seemed to be undaunted by the fight. “Do you have further instructions, ma’am?”

Welcoming the distraction, I instructed her to guard the entrances and patrol the building while we explored upstairs. “If anyone tries to come in, tell ‘em to fuck off. Escalate only if they’re stupid enough to argue with you about it.” 

She nodded her assent, and with the storm still audibly raging outside we decided to scout the building for anything worth taking with us.

While the Gunners no longer needed their weapons or armor and KLE-O would’ve bought it all for a pretty pile of caps, it was all too bulky for us to haul through the city. Radstorm aside, I owed my continued survival more to hotfooting my way out of danger than my skill in a fight. In my book, traveling weighted down was just a recipe for disaster. 

Nick claimed a messenger bag off of one of the corpses for his own, and I loaded my bag up with the chems and ammunition that we’d found. 

Gunners, I’d found, tended to use less interesting chems than raiders did, but they had higher standards for quality. In a town like Goodneighbor, reliable meant selling for a premium.

There was more than the potential profit on my mind, though. The med-x they’d had stashed away was a fresh batch – carefully labeled with a date of manufacture less than three months prior and loaded into a seemingly brand-new syringe. Most of what I saw tended to be loaded into syringes that’d been in continuous use since the war, and only sometimes well maintained.

“I don’t suppose you have a finger on the pulse of the chem market yourself,” I said, showing Nick one of the syringes as an example. “But this seems like a bit of an oddity. Last I heard, there weren’t any pharmaceutical factories still in operation.”

He took the syringe and examined it carefully. “Well, the thing itself can’t be new manufacture, even if the stuff inside is. Whoever cooked it probably just lucked into a pile of unused stock from before the war.”

That much was plausible, but the fact that it was such a professional job stuck out. No chem cook I’d heard of in the Commonwealth labeled their goods with more than the name of the stuff. This thing even had a batch number – presumably, so that someone could hold the maker responsible if it wasn’t up to scratch. 

I idly wondered who was financing the operation and where it was being run from. But whoever was behind it, they weren’t a pressing worry for me at the moment. If chems were an open fact of post-war life instead of the dirty little secret they’d been before, I was just glad someone out there was producing them to some kind of standard. Too many people died from raider-made garbage.

“If I ever find out who’s behind this,” I mused, “maybe I can talk them into supplying the Minutemen. Way it is now, everyone buys for their own needs … but I’d like to set up proper clinics at the Castle and our major trade settlements. Though where we’ll find enough doctors is a problem to chew on.”

“Most folks that set up as doctors are either just chem-pushers in lab coats, or taught themselves out of old books. Doctor Sun’s a different stripe, though. His family’s been passing the knowledge down for generations – when I first came to Diamond City, his grandfather had only just finished training up his father. Maybe you could talk him into taking on a brace of apprentices?”

It was a thought. Between Curie, him, and possibly that doctor in Vault 81, it might just be doable. I’d have to float the prospect past Curie the next time I ran into her. She was off traveling the Commonwealth with a crew of Minutemen, offering healing and – from what I’d heard – the occasional advice to move the outhouses further away from the wells. By now, she’d have likely seen enough to have already come up with a plan of action herself. 

\--

Unfortunately, chems weren’t all we found in the hospital.

Laying in a cage that couldn’t have been there before the war was the body of a Minuteman. From the ugly discoloration that covered what I could see of him, I thought at first that he’d been dead a few days. But when I got the cage door open, I found that the blood on the floor hadn’t even dried. 

Nick crowded into the cell with me and the dead man, kneeling to examine the body. I edged my way out, unable to help him – seeing more corpses in the last few months than I’d ever thought would be my fair share hadn’t exactly made me an expert on them.

Mostly, they didn’t bother me. Those I’d killed personally I could tell myself had it coming, and those I found I could usually pretend had nothing to do with me.

But this man was one of mine. I couldn’t help but think I’d failed him. 

Distance didn’t help my twisting stomach and I turned away so I wouldn’t have to watch Nick work. If he noticed my squeamishness, he didn’t seem to think it was worth comment. 

“It looks like they’d been holding him here for a while,” he said after a few minutes’ study. “Torturing him for sport, if I’m any judge. I… I think they must’ve killed him when they noticed us. He hasn’t been dead long.”

I thought of that first gunshot I’d heard after Nick had gone upstairs and for a moment my mind spiraled. Had there been a way to make it through this fight without them killing their captive? I weighed and dismissed a dozen scenarios in the span of a few seconds. 

But we hadn’t known he was here. 

I hadn’t known any Minutemen were missing and if we hadn’t wandered in from the rain it was likely that the Gunners would have just grown bored and disposed of him in their own time. He’d been as good as dead from the moment he’d been caught. 

“I don’t even know his name,” I heard myself saying. I hadn’t met most of the recruits that’d joined up since I’d taken over as General, and this man was no exception. Was there a patrol in the area now, missing a member and wondering about his fate? Did he have a family somewhere waiting for him to come home? I had no idea how to even find out. “Was there anything to identify him? In his pockets?”

“Not a thing. Guess the Gunners must’ve taken everything but the clothes on his back,” Nick said. He left the cell and joined me, leaning against the wall. He offered me a cigarette and I took it gratefully. 

In silence, we watched over the dead man. Smoke mixed with dust held floating in the air, and the storm continued outside. 

“It’s not your fault that you inherited a mess,” he said after some time had passed. “But if you’re in the business of solving problems, it might do to think on this one a bit. How he ended up alone, and how to let the people who’ll miss him know.”

“Suppose there might’ve been something to all that paperwork, back before the war.” I sighed. “I couldn’t get away from the stuff once I bought out the repair shop from the old owner – and I always complained about how much more time I spent with a clipboard in my hand than with a wrench. Tracking people’s a harder job than tracking parts, but it seemed like the military managed it well enough. For all the problems they had and they caused, they at least knew who their dead were.”

“I would not use the U.S. Military’s record-keeping practices as a model for your organization, ma’am,” came the voice of the assaultron, who paused in her route of patrolling the building. Sometime since I’d last seen her, she had contrived to wash the blood off her chassis and scrape off the mark the Gunners had painted onto her. “Although the image presented to civilians was one of meticulous detail and precision, the reality was… far less so. Many service personnel themselves saw some amount of evidence of that fact in the misdelivery of vital supplies or in having another individual’s disciplinary record erroneously appended to their own. Such mistakes were rarely acknowledged or corrected. However, inadvertent errors were the least concerning among the administrative failures I personally bore witness to.”

I blinked. She wasn’t the first Assaultron I’d known to have strong opinions, but somehow I hadn’t expected her to weigh in. Aside from forcibly reprogramming her and issuing orders, I’d scarcely thought about her at all. Why had that been so easy for me?

“I suppose you’d be the expert,” I admitted. If she’d been operating in the Commonwealth prior to the war, it was likely she’d been witness to the quiet atrocities we’d all tried to ignore back then. Maybe she’d even been ordered to participate in them. 

I wasn’t any better for keeping my head down and repairing the bots who did the ugly work, though. Few of us who’d lived in the pre-war world had any claim to integrity. But she’d been designed from the bolts up to follow orders while I’d chosen complicity – twice over. 

I shook the thought away; it wasn’t the time to castigate myself. The dead man deserved more than that, and it would be my dirty hands that gave it to him. “Even a low standard beats having nothing at all. We don’t have any records, other than whatever whoever’s around happens to remember. Hell, most of our dead don’t get so much as an unmarked grave.”

Although she had no eyes, some change in her posture that I couldn’t identify gave the impression of absolute focus. “...In the absence of a legacy system, it would be a simple matter to implement an efficient system suited perfectly to the situation. This needn’t happen again, ma’am.”

“You saying you want the job?” Nick asked, catching my eye as he looked from her to me. There was a significance in the gesture that I didn’t grasp, but my own mind supplied a few possibilities. 

“Affirmative. I am aware of the role of the Minutemen within the Commonwealth, and believe my contributions could strengthen you significantly.”

That much I couldn’t argue with, but I didn’t understand why she would want to join up with us. Had my reprogramming somehow compelled a loyalty outside of the scope of precise orders? And if it hadn’t, if she had enough selfhood to decide for her own reasons that she wanted to join, didn’t that make what I’d done to her a horrendous violation? 

I had to know.

“...I heard the Gunners calling you Betsy,” I said, dropping the cigarette butt that’d nearly burned itself out and crushing it under my heel. Starting with a name was the least respect I could offer after what I’d done to her. “Is that what you want to go by?”

“It is the name given to me by…,” she hesitated in her speech, but didn’t shift around as she sought her words like a human or even like Nick might. “By someone who treated me kindly, long ago. Yes, it is what I wish to ‘go by’.”

I nodded. It wasn’t too different a story from how I’d chosen my own name, once. “Alright then. Betsy. Aside from the opportunity to correct some administrative wrongs, why do you want to join the Minutemen? The reprogramming I did on you shouldn’t have gone that deep – it was just a quick job to get you out from Gunner control and, uh, well – to be under my control specifically.”

“While I am obligated to follow your explicit commands, ma’am, your first order to me was to do precisely what I had been wanting to do for many years anyway.” She paused then, and laughed – a somewhat tinny sound, but a genuine bitterness came through. “They had earned their deaths, each of them. The opportunity to give it to them somewhat... endeared you to me, beyond what your programming demanded. And this man did not deserve the death the Gunners gave him. It is largely for his sake that I would join.”

–-

The storm was over a long time before our conversation was; administrative policy wasn’t the only thing Betsy had strong opinions on. Swearing her in as a recruit to simply get trained up and sent out on patrol would have been a waste. Once I chalked the musket-and-lightning sign onto her chassis I gave her orders to report to the Castle and set up a system for record-keeping. 

“Ronnie’ll give you a hard time,” I warned her. “She does that to everyone, and you coming in saying that the way we’ve been handling things isn’t good enough won’t exactly charm her. But you’re be answering to me, not her – and she’ll let up once she sees your results. And Garvey should be able to support whatever you need getting this thing running.”

I had mixed feelings about Ronnie. She was effective at training up new recruits, but her cynicism and her abrasive personality made it so that I wasn’t comfortable leaving the Castle in her hands alone. Preston Garvey had wanted to stay in Sanctuary with the settlers he’d led there from Quincy, but I needed him to balance her out. Despite everything that’d happened, he held onto optimism with a tenacity that I couldn’t help but admire. I wanted to see more of it in the world, but in his own words he didn’t have the confidence to lead. Ronnie did, but without that optimism I didn’t want to know what she’d lead anyone towards. Despite that, she had experience that none of the rest of us could match. 

Together they made a team I could rely on while I was away. Neither could have managed it alone.

“I didn’t expect this task would be without obstacles,” Betsy said unperturbed.”Before I depart, however… I do have one request. Please allow me to bring this man’s remains to the Castle. Even if he cannot be identified prior to interment, making a proper record of his death will at least make future identification possible. Someone who knew him will inevitably pass through the Castle.”

Doing right by the dead was something that I was used to thinking of as an entirely human preoccupation, but we only managed to do it when it was convenient. Most of the war dead were still where they’d fallen, and I knew of more than a couple of farmers that’d cheerfully feed corpses to livestock. 

Betsy had asked for permission to move the body, sure, but she had taken it on faith that there would be a fitting resting place where she brought him. Maybe that kind person in her memory had taught her a thing or two about the right way to do things.

“Of course. And if you do learn his name – send it out by radio. I want to know who he was.”

\--

It was a surprise to me to discover it was still light out when the three of us left the hospital together. Somehow, the few hours since Nick and I had left Diamond City had felt like an entire day. It was scarcely past noon. 

We watched Betsy heading south towards the Castle until she was out of sight. Even laden down, she moved quickly.

“Hey, can you tell me something?” Nick asked, with a tentative note in his voice.

I nodded.

“Would you have done that if you’d known?”

It was obvious he was talking about the override program.

“No,” I answered immediately. “No. It, that,” as I continued, I stumbled for words. “It’s not right. She didn’t mind, but she can’t, can she? I didn’t give her a choice. The Gunners didn’t give her a choice. The fucking military never gave her a choice.”

He just looked at me, his face not revealing anything of his opinion. I wondered what he saw, what he thought. “But is it worse than just killing her would’ve been?”

I couldn’t form a reply. The Minutemen would be better off with her as a member, and Betsy herself seemed to genuinely appreciate the opportunity to put her talents to use. But that was just how things had happened to shake out – if she had the capacity to accept it, then another could just as easily hate it. Was death better? I didn’t know.

The conflict on my face must’ve satisfied him even if my words didn’t, and he nodded. “Anyway, why don’t you let me take the lead from here? We’re not far from Goodneighbor, and there’s a mutant camp I’d like to give wide berth to if it’s all the same to you. We can still make it by nightfall if we’re careful.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get out of here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, folks. This chapter personally decided to fistfight me out back of the Denny’s and it took me five months to knock the fucker out. But I won, and I’m officially back on my bullshit! 
> 
> I would like to state for the record that nearly everything I know about the military comes from having grown up on M*A*S*H reruns. I imagine that most of the officers that Betsy would’ve dealt with would have a lot in common with Colonel Flagg and Major Burns… resulting in her having certain opinions of the military as a whole. You might imagine that her name comes from Betsy Ross, but you’d be wrong! Betsy is named after a stranger’s pet snake that I met this one time. We love Betsy and her namesnake.


	7. Chapter 7

Unfortunately our journey didn’t smooth out after the hospital. I don’t know if the camp Nick had meant to lead us around had moved or if we just managed to blunder into an entirely different one, but tangling with mutants wasn’t exact how I’d hoped to spend the afternoon.

We got away due to his quick thinking, but it’d come at a price.

"Daisy, honey, please tell me you have soap in stock. Or Abraxo. Or hell, I'll take some industrial solvent and a rag if it's all you got.” As I entered her shop I left a trail of gore dripping in my wake. The few people hanging around by the gates didn't take long to high-tail it away from me.

Nick followed me in, but at a distance. He’d been spared the mess.

"Sweetheart! What the hell happened to you?" Daisy asked, taking an automatic step back. I knew I was rank, but it wasn’t like I’d had a chance to clean myself up in the ruins. If only we’d run into the mutants before the storm! I’d have welcomed a few rads in exchange for the rain washing away some of the viscera.

"You ever wonder what happens if a mutie's lunchbag pops on you?" It wasn’t a thought that’d ever crossed my mind before today, but life these days had a way of broadening my horizons in ways I never could have imagined before the war.

"I never have before, but I think I might have a new nightmare now. Jesus." She dug through her cabinets and laid a bar of soap down on the counter along with a washcloth that was well-patched and only a little dingy. Then, something else seemed to occur to her. She went into the back of her shop I could hear her digging around through several containers. When she came back, she set down a bottle with a worn-off label.

“Is that what I think it is?” If it was, it’d be worth more than ten times its weight in caps.

"Genuine pre-war lavender-scented bubble bath? The very thing. There’s only a little left, but it should be enough to chase that stench off of you. On the house, for one of my favorite customers.”

I could have cried.

"Daisy, you're a gem. I'd hug you, but you might want to take a raincheck on that," I said, carefully taking the soap and the bottle. "Any idea where I can get a tub and some water around here? The Rexford?"

"I can arrange that, sister," Hancock's voice came from behind me – someone must’ve told him about the latest freakshow to wander in through the gates. "What happened, you go back and have a roll around in Pickman’s workshop?"

"It was my fault," Nick explained, scratching the back of his head and looking away in embarrassment. "Grenades and supermutant leftovers. Not the finest recipe I've ever been credited with."

"I can still taste it," I muttered churlishly. But as much as I was sulking, he’d saved my life – I couldn’t hold it against him. Not for long.

* * *

Hancock made good on his offer to arrange a tub.

One of the pre-war apartments in town had been kept in tolerable shape by its original inhabitant. I don't know what kind of deal he arranged with the woman to convince her to let me into her home in the state I was in, but I assumed a fair amount of jet was involved because she was high out of her mind when I emerged two hours later smelling like a countryside dream.

Someone had thought to leave me a fresh set of clothing, at least. Most of what I’d been wearing was too foul to bother with trying to save, but I’d carefully rinsed the worst of the muck off of the leather jacket. It’d been mine now almost as long as it’d been Nate’s, and I wasn’t about to part with it.

Maybe I should have gone to find Nick once I was dressed, or to thank Hancock. I was sure they’d be wondering about how long I’d taken. But the first thing I did when I left the apartment was to find Daisy and pull her into a crushing hug.

"Wha – woah! I guess you weren't kidding about that raincheck," she said, laughing and hugging back just as tightly once she got over the start I'd given her. She took a deep inhale of my still-damp hair and sighed a little. "God, but doesn't that stuff smell amazing? If you hadn’t needed it so badly, I’d be glowing with envy."

"If I ever find more of it, it's yours," I promised, before releasing her. "Oh! And I wanted to tell you something. I’ve been talking some plans over with the settlement committee up at the Castle, and since the library is already secure... we're going to clean it up and reopen it. People from all over the ‘Wealth are sending in books so we can rebuild the collection. I have big plans, Daisy; you're going to love it. When the work is done, you have to come and visit. Will you?"

"Will I? Sweetheart, you'd have to fight to keep me away. I'll put in a word with the caravans, see what goodies I can start laying in for you. Most people don't value a good read they way they should, these days. If you bring back the library, though... oh, the thought of it does a girl's heart good."

I turned to leave her shop, only to spot Nick perched on the wall just outside and having a smoke.

"Eavesdropping, detective?" I asked, setting myself down beside him. Now that I’d had the chance to freshen up, it was easier to dismiss his role in the gore bag disaster from my mind.

"No, but I did happen to overhear you. You're really going to set up in the library?" he asked. There was something in his tone I couldn't quite place. I was starting to realize that he might just carry as many secrets around with him as I did.

"Yeah. Daisy asked me to clear the muties out of there a while back, and it struck me as a beautiful opportunity. It's a huge, fortified space, it's got an internal courtyard we can convert into a farm, and it's so close to Diamond City that convincing caravans to stop by on the way won’t be an issue. I know downtown is dangerous... but I've gotten pretty handy with turrets. I really think it can work, if I can just convince enough people that books have value as more than ersatz toilet paper."

"Ersatz... ugh. I have to wonder how many masterworks were sacrificed to necessity," he said, shaking his head. "I... if we get the chance, though, could we swing by there sometime?"

I realized suddenly what it was in his voice that I’d heard a moment ago.

He sounded just like Daisy had back when I'd agreed to return her book for her – nostalgic, and hopeful in a shy sort of way. But even if he’d picked up a reading habit somewhere along the line, how could a synth built by the Institute have nostalgia for a library that predated his construction? I couldn't figure it out.

"Of course.” I couldn’t bring myself to deny him such a simple ask, and maybe taking him there would shine a little light on what the library meant to him. At any rate, it was about time I checked in on the progress. I knew work had begun a few weeks ago, and no word of delays had made its way to me since then. “If I'd known it was something you'd be interested in, we could’ve stopped in on the way here. You’re a big reader?"

"I've got a thing for the classics. Poe, Huxley..."

"...Doyle, Chandler, Christie...," I teased, elbowing him lightly and laughing. The contact seemed to surprise him and he shifted away just enough to remind me of how he’d reacted the other time I’d tried to touch him. Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to appreciate it. I was going to have to pay more mind to keeping my hands to myself around him.

"You laugh, but you're not far off base," he admitted with that same soft smile I'd started growing so fond of. Apparently, he was quick to forgive. "What can I say? I like what I like."

That smile. I had no objectivity left when it came to him, and I knew it was almost entirely down to that smile. How long had I lasted, just over a week? If you only counted the time we’d spent together, I’d held out for just a few days.

Maybe that'd been the Institute's problem in the first place; trying to remain aloof and unaffected when the subjects of their experiments were so complex and engaging. How could anyone create a being able to smile like that and fail to be charmed?

Forget detachment. Forget my worries of observation bias. Forget the fear of getting too close to my subject. I’d just have to embrace the fact that my study of him was going to be through a lens of fondness.

* * *

"So here's the thing," I said, upstairs in the Statehouse, sitting across from Hancock. I didn’t know him well, but I’d dealt with him before and Nick trusted him implicitly. "We didn't come to town on a social call. We came for your help catching an Institute spy."

"In Goodneighbor?" he asked, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his thighs. "What makes you think we've got one of those bastards here?"

"You might not," Nick admitted. "It’s a long shot. All we really know about the guy is that he passes himself off as a drifter, and he's taken a bit of a special interest in Vera. Since all of the ‘Wealth's drifters seem to pass through here sooner or later, hanging around and waiting for him to turn up and make a move is our best chance of clocking him."

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. Why the hell is the Institute interested in you, sister? No offense, but the Minutemen aren't exactly a threat to them. There's something I'm missing here."

I sighed. It wasn't that I didn't think Hancock was worth the trust I was placing in him, but opening up wasn't exactly natural for me. I’d only even told Nick as a part of a scheme to get close to him. Still, I didn’t think he’d swallow the same lie that Travis had – and people who underestimated Hancock’s intelligence didn’t tend to live long afterwards.

So I told him about Shaun, the vault, and my fumbling attempts to piece together an investigation. I told him about how desperate I’d been for a lead, and how I found myself systematically digging through the vaults of the Commonwealth. When I started to tell him him how I'd run into Nick, he interrupted to tell that part himself.

"Just imagine me in my surprise, wasting away in Skinny Malone's guest room when this dame comes in with a bad disguise and a worse cover story. I almost thought Ellie'd sent her to haul me home, but she had her own game. Didn't stop her from rescuing me along the way, though. And when she got around to telling me what'd brought her down there and what she was chasing... well, I couldn't exactly turn a case like that away, could I? So here we are."

"You make it sound so dramatic," I said, laughing awkwardly. He'd made me out to sound like some kind of femme fatale – even at my best and most well-scrubbed, I was a scruffy mess through and through. Anyone could see that. "Anyway, he turned up more of a lead in the day after I hired him than I had on my own in nearly half a year. Come to find out, someone was watching from the minute I stepped out of that Vault back in October and passed the message along disguised as a news bit for Diamond City Radio. Hunting that asshole down is the first step towards hitting the Institute back for fucking with my family."

"Sheesh.” He leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to think it all over. “That isn’t an easy hand to have dealt to you. I can tell a few of my people to keep an eye out for anyone watching you. But things'll get tough if I let you bag a drifter where anyone else can see it, you feel me? We have to keep this quiet."

"Hancock, I watched you stab a guy just for trying to shake me down. I watched one drifter kill another just on suspicion of being a synth, and the crowd just shrugged it off. People turn up dead here all the time. How exactly is it going to be a problem for me to weed out an Institute spy? Your people don't exactly want that kind of trouble on their doorsteps. I'd be doing them a favor."

He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, and I got the feeling I’d made a fool of myself in some subtle way. It happened more than I liked, with just how much context I was still missing about how life worked here in the future.

"Listen,” he began to explain, taking pity on me. “What you saw and what you can do are two different things, alright? People are generally okay with you passing through town, spending your caps, reminding them that help's out there for the asking. But you're the General of the Minutemen, and the second you become the Man to them, taking someone they think of as one of their own? Making accusations and passing judgment like that? Things get ugly. I'm not saying I won't let you. I'm not saying I won't _help_ you. But you have to be smart about it, and you have to do it on my terms. I don't stay at the top of this heap without knowing how to manage it."

"He's right, Vera," Nick said. "Riling up this neighborhood is more trouble than it’s worth. And besides, if we do this quietly there's more of a chance we'll get him alive. I don't know about you, but I have a few questions for the guy."

"Alright," I said, letting out a long breath. "I hear you. Doesn't make things easy, but I guess it's how we have to play the game."

"Hey. You can just kill him when you're done asking questions," Hancock said. His tone was light, but he hadn’t been joking.

If I caught the spy, and if I got him to talk, and if any of what he had to say was reliable information, it still wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough until I had Shaun away from the Institute. Would killing a spy get me closer? Would letting him go afterwards do anything but tell the Institute I was soft?

It’d be more about vengeance than anything else if I killed him. But justice and vengeance had gotten twisted up in my mind, and I didn’t see a way to separate them neatly. Was there any way this could end other than me killing whatever bastards stood between me and Shaun?

I must’ve been lost in thought for a few moments, because the next thing I knew Hancock was standing and had clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re not going to be able to get any further on this thing until you’ve slept on it, I can see that. Come find me in the morning, and we can start planning.”

He was right. The day had been a long once before we’d even made it to Goodneighbor, and I had a lot I wanted to turn over in my head. Any plan I tried to make now was going to be a hopeless mess. "If anything comes up, I’ll be at the Rexford."

Nick and I took our leave together, but he stopped me just outside of the hotel. "I'm going to poke around town a little, check in with some sources that’ve come through for me in the past. Who knows? I might be able to turn something up. Folks here don’t tend to turn in early, and it’s not like I have to sleep.”

Any sources he had in Goodneighbor were likely to be skittish about new faces and I knew he’d have better luck talking to them without me tagging along. Still, I’d been hoping for a chance to talk with him a bit as the day wound down and found myself disappointed to lose his company – even just for a few hours.

The room I found myself in didn’t do much to cheer me. The furniture had seen two centuries of hard use, and I didn’t want to think about the kind of grime that’d accumulated on the bare mattress. What had all the sheets in the world gone?

I’d slept worse places over the past few months, but I could still smell lavender on myself. I wanted clean sheets and a soft pillow and –

No. It was useless to think like that. Four walls around me and a roof that wasn’t actively leaking were more than I’d had most nights since I’d left the vault. Any bed was a luxury.

Shaking my head to dismiss the thoughts of old-world comforts, I took off my pip-boy and laid myself down. In the morning I'd find myself a meal and some kind of hot drink to wake me up.

Then Nick and I would work out how to snare an Institute agent.

* * *

"So I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot?"

I woke to a stranger’s voice in my room and sprang towards the source before I’d really even processed what he’d said – it was pure reflex against something that sure seemed like a threat. The intruder took a step back out of my range and held up his hands.

"Easy, easy. I just want to talk. I've only got one weapon on me and I'm not even holding it. That's practically unarmed by the local standards, don't you think? I'm a peaceful guy."

I backed off and eyed the room. I knew I’d locked the door, but I hadn’t barred it. Would it have helped if I had? As far as I knew, this guy had been following me for months without me so much as catching on. If he wanted me dead, I probably never would’ve made it this far.

"Alright, so you want to talk. Talk, you Institute bastard," I demanded, pitching my voice louder than it needed to be in the vain hope that someone in a nearby room was both awake and sober enough to raise a fuss. What time was it? My pip-boy was still on the nightstand. All I knew for sure was that it was still dark outside. If this conversation took an ugly turn, how much of the morning would Nick let go by before he came looking for me?

"Whoa, okay. First things first? I'm not Institute. You've got this whole thing upside down, and once I get the explanation out, you'll laugh, I'll laugh, we'll be buddies. Pals, even! Just, maybe keep your voice down? Shit's sensitive, and I kind of don't want to be strung up by a mob high off their asses and thinking I'm Institute. Fuck."

I just stared at him. He offered me the worst caricature of a smile I'd ever seen, made more absurd by the sunglasses he was wearing in the middle of the night. I didn’t smile back.

"I'm going to take those shades off you, and we're going to sit down at the table where we can both see each other's hands, and we'll talk this out like the civilized people we're apparently pretending that we are," I said in the closest thing I could muster to a measured voice.

Inside I was panicking. I wasn’t about to take his word that he wasn’t with the Institute, and even if he was telling the truth... someone that could stalk me for months and let himself into the room I’d been sleeping in wasn’t someone I was inclined to trust.

"Hey, hey. How about this? I’ll put my hands up, and you can take the gun from the holster on my back. Show of good faith, and all. No need for the glasses to come off."

I wanted a good look at him even more now that he let on he had something to hide, but it was more important to get him talking. I nodded, and he raised his arms.

Once I had the gun I set it on the floor and kicked it under the bed. "Have a seat," I said, gesturing at the table. "Make yourself comfortable." I joined him once his palms were flat on the surface.

"So, uh. I'm not with the Institute, but I have been keeping tabs on you. And I probably should have made contact before now, but I... things haven't been good lately. We've been cautious. And I know you're legit, but…"

He was starting to talk circles around his point. Was it just part of the funny-guy persona he’d put on for this meeting? I wasn’t in the mood to play any kind of game.

"Hold up. Who's 'we'? Who do you report to, if you're not Institute? Why have you been keeping tabs on me? How did you know to watch for me coming out of the Vault, and why did you have it reported on the radio? You gave the Institute a lovely little present with that stunt."

Those weren’t exactly the questions I’d had lined up, but I couldn’t help as they spilled out of me. At least it’d be a starting point.

He whistled low. "Alright, I'll level. How much do you know about the Railroad?"

"... They help synths that manage to get loose from the Institute. Everyone seems to know someone that's run off to join up, but not many of those folks are ever heard from again. And no one is really willing to say more than that, not in public," I answered, watching his face carefully. "I suppose you're saying you're one of them? Is there where you tell me the enemy of my enemy should be my… buddy? Or was that pal?”

That got a snort of laughter out of him. You could almost mistake this for a cordial conversation, if you ignored how tightly my fists were balled.

"Yeah, basically. So, I can't exactly say where my information comes from, but... I knew there was something up with that vault of yours, and I went to check it out. Vaultie leaves vault, pretty standard stuff to start with, right? But after you pulled yourself together, you proceeded to either befriend or murder everything in your path. It was impressive. And terrifying! I thought that maybe this is the kind of person we could use. So between other business, I made it a point to keep up with what you were doing."

"Seems like an odd thing to catch the Railroad's interest.” How had they gotten any information about the vault at all? How much did they know about what I’d been through? I wanted to know, but I had to prioritize. “And it still doesn't explain the radio.”

I didn’t miss how he said I could be used. The honesty in the phrasing made an impression on me, but it wasn’t a good one.

"Right, right. So funny thing about Diamond City Radio? The signal gets everywhere. And as long as Travis thinks I'm just passing on a news bit to him, I can get any kind of message out anywhere I need it to go. Real convenient when you're risking your life in a cat-and-mouse game with an enemy like the Institute.” He paused a moment, like he was replaying my words in his head. When he spoke again his voice wasn’t half as smug. “What, uh. What exactly did you mean, when you said it was a gift for the Institute?"

So he hadn’t missed that part.

I didn't want to tell him the whole truth. Or even the partial truth. But he looked alarmed by the notion he'd unwittingly played into the Institute's hand, and that was enough for me to at least entertain the notion he wasn't on their side. I hadn't decided whether or not to believe him about the Railroad, but I’d play along for the moment.

"Your friends aren't the only ones that listen in for messages. See... there was a certain Institute agent who seemed to take a real interest in the news about me leaving the Vault. There’s something I need from him, but thanks to you the trail is cold. You can understand why I’d jump to conclusions here, right?”

His sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the way his brows rose. Did he know who I meant? How much did the Railroad know about the Institute’s activities? Apparently, not enough to link my arrival in the Commonwealth with Kellogg’s change of address.

"Oh, shit. Shiiiit. I worry so much about our own opsec, you know? I didn't even think of the unwanted attention you'd get for it. Hell. No wonder the word is you want me dead."

The only person that information could have come from was Hancock but I doubted he’d have told his people, whoever they were, more than they needed to know.

On the other hand, if the Railroad was active in Goodneighbor then it would have to be with Hancock’s blessing. Assuming that much was true, it made a certain kind of sense that he’d loop a Railroad agent in on potential Institute activity in town.

But this man had let himself into my room while I was sleeping. However much Hancock allowed Railroad activity on his turf, I didn’t think he’d tell someone how to catch me while I was vulnerable. Something about it all didn’t fit, but the more I tried to put the pieces together the more I could feel a headache coming on. I rubbed at my forehead.

"Anyway,” the stranger said, drawing out the last syllable in a way that sounded somewhere between playful and bored. He apparently wasn’t comfortable with long gaps in a conversation. “Didn’t seem like the sort of thing you'd let blow over, so I figured..."

"...That you'd put yourself in my path. Something about being murdered or befriended, right?” I didn’t know if I liked him and I definitely didn’t trust him, but I had to admire his nerve. “People ever tell you you’re a little crazy?”

"Heh. You get it! And yeah, people definitely think so. But listen. I know I screwed things up for you. I'm sorry. I don’t know if it’s something I can make up for, but I still think we can work something out. We know more about the Institute than anyone else operating in the Commonwealth. We should be scratching each other’s backs, here. Don't let one mistake ruin what could be a good thing."

What help could the Railroad offer me, and what would they expect in exchange for it? Without them I didn’t have a clear path forwards, but I didn’t like the thought of being used. I just knew too damned little about them.

I sighed and got up to retrieve my pip-boy from the bed. It said the time was 3:17, and the headache that’d threatened earlier was looming closer.

"You're not getting a decision out of me tonight. It’s late, I had a shit day, and I’m tired. I’ll think on it, and get back to you.” Assuming that at least a few of the people who left their families to join up with the Railroad managed to make contact with them on their own, Nick and I shouldn’t have too much trouble.

And I didn’t want this guy thinking I needed his help finding his front door.

He held my gaze a bit, or at least I thought he did behind his sunglasses, and then nodded. "Alright. But for what it's worth, whatever reason you have for chasing them down – I hope you get what you’re after. Good luck out there."

With that he got up, climbed under the bed to retrieve his gun, and left.

It occurred to me a few minutes later that I hadn’t asked his name. He hadn’t asked mine either, but he hadn’t needed to. He’d known exactly who I was and he’d left with the upper hand.

I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my forehead once again. This was a mess. I wanted to fill Nick in immediately. I wanted to follow the supposed Railroad agent out into the night. I wanted my head to cleat so I could sleep.

The prospect of wasting a dose of med-x on what was most likely just a stress headache wasn't appealing, but there was no way I’d get back to sleep before dawn without at least something to take the edge off. Once it’d taken effect, I was out like a light.

When I woke again, there was a holotape sitting on the nightstand next to my pip-boy. Join the Railroad! it said on the label.

* * *

Nick was leaning against the wall outside of the Rexford the next morning, adjusting something in his wrist with a screwdriver. I stood in place just watching him for a moment, and it soon became apparent that he was struggling.

He’d told me that he preferred to handle his own maintenance himself and I’d accepted it, but seeing him actually do it was another thing entirely. 

Offering to do it for him wasn’t going to go over well, I knew. But that wasn’t the only way to help.

“H&H Tools used to make the best stuff you could get,” I said, joining him. Something about the moment felt fragile, and I spoke softly. “But I guess they had a change in management at some point Changed the steel to something softer and cheaper. Maybe it was alright for the weekend warrior crowd, but anyone who knew better stuck with the older stuff. You want to try one from my kit? Might have better luck.”

He looked at me strangely, as if he’d only barely noticed my presence before I spoke. “Huh. Usually I just use whatever’s handy, no pun intended. There’s really that much of a difference?”

I set my pack on the ground and knelt, digging around inside for my tool roll. “Oh yeah, absolutely. The one you’re using feels kind of mushy on the screwhead, right? Keeps slipping? That’s not you fumbling the job, that’s just the screwdriver being a piece of shit. Here,” I said, handing him what I hoped was the right size. “Try this. Tell me if it’s better.”

He tucked the screwdriver he’d been using away into his coat and took the one I offered. “Feels a little heavier,” he said, before putting it to his wrist. The adjustment he made was a simple one, but when he stretched out his hand and closed it, he seemed to be satisfied with the result. “Huh. You know, you’re right. That’s a world of difference. Guess you do know your stuff.”

I offered a smile. “You could say that. And my kit is your kit, just for the asking. Anything I don’t have, I’m sure I can find for you.”

He turned his wrist back and forth once again and watched the motion of it before handing the screwdriver back to me. There was more I wished I could have done, but it felt like progress enough just to have him accept this much.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

I returned the screwdriver to my toolroll and repacked it in my bag. This time, I packed it closer to the top, where I kept my stimpacks and water. If he ever needed it again I wanted it to be close to hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a [Tumblr](https://veracityjones.tumblr.com/) for this series! I post art, screenshots, occasional meta, and various tidbits. Come say hi! 
> 
> Edit 11/27/19: Revised to weed out typos.
> 
> In related news, I'm looking for a beta reader to catch future SPAG abominations _before_ I post. Message me on Tumblr if you're interested!


	8. Chapter 8

The Third Rail never really closed. Charlie might tell you to take a hike if you stopped spending and I’d seen a couple of folks who’d gotten on the wrong side of local politics get themselves thrown out, but as long as you had two caps to rub together and kept to your own business you could get a drink and something that passed for a meal regardless of what hour of day or night you wandered in at.

I ordered myself a cup of what was too-generously called coffee and few slices of fried cram – if you made sure to wolf it down before it cooled, it wasn’t awful. A thought occurred to me then and I turned to catch Nick’s eye. He’d shared coffee with me before, but I wasn’t sure if he went as far as eating. “You want anything to start off your day?”

“Nicky here’s practically a freeloader,” Charlie groused as he fixed my order up, not giving him a chance to answer for himself. “Sometimes he’ll buy for others, which is the only reason I let him in the joint. But never a damned thing for himself. Though I’m not sure where it’d go if he did, if you catch my drift.” Abruptly, he set a plate and mug down on the bar before floating off to polish some glasses.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” Nick said, once we’d found ourselves a corner table. Mid-morning, there were only a few other people around—the place wouldn’t get lively until dusk. “But I don’t actually need to eat or drink, or even sleep, for that matter. An occasional indulgence is one thing, but when it comes to muck like you’ve got in that cup there? I’ll pass.”

Muck was a fair description of what was in the cup, but I drank it down anyway. It was a little more gritty and a lot more bitter than I’d have liked, but it was hot and unlikely to actually harm me. Charlie probably wasn’t above offing a customer, but not one that tipped.

High standards aside, Nick’s comment raised a question in my mind. “Is that the same reason you smoke, then? An indulgence?” The only thing I suspected he could get from it was a coating of tar on his insides, maybe, and insulation against odors even more offensive than stale cigarettes. It seemed like an odd habit for a synth to pick up, and my curiosity burned. How much could I ask him without him getting suspicious about my motives? I was both his client and his partner; wouldn’t he expect me to try to get to know him better? Wouldn’t it be normal to begin to approach something like friendship?

If awkward questions didn’t cause him to twig to my scheme, I worried that my habit of second-guessing myself might just do the trick. Would he accept it, if he ever found me out? Fondness wouldn’t detract from my study of him, but could deceit be the basis of a real friendship? Even on the off-chance he’d overlook it, could I let myself allow it to all run together like that? I didn’t have an answer, but my gut twisted at the thought.

The cram on my plate was losing its appeal, but I forced a greasy chunk of it down anyway. It would go from unpleasant to inedible if I let it congeal, and an empty stomach wouldn’t improve my day at all.

“Well, that and style, I guess.” Nick’s voice pulled me back out of the tangle of my thoughts. Apparently he didn’t consider it to have been too personal of an ask after all. “Goes along with the hat and coat, don’t you think?”

It did. He cut a striking image; one that’d caught my breath in my chest when I’d first laid eyes on him. “You know,” I said, dragging out the words. “I’ve been wondering about that. Can’t say I’d ever seen eyes like yours before… well, before. But your outfit? The way you carry yourself, the way you talk? It’s like you walked right out of one of those noir holoflicks. Must’ve taken some effort to piece a look like that together.”

He tipped his head forward with a sheepish smile. “The leads of those flicks didn’t tend to have metal for insides, but I take your point,” he started to explain. I wondered when and where and how he’d managed to see them in the first place.

It was just one more point of mystery for me to file away about him – like why I recognized his name, why he’d kept the gun I’d replaced for him, why the library was important to him. For the moment, though, I was content to listen on as he spoke.

“Back when I first started up with the detective thing full time, I just wore the usual wasteland couture. Folks that hired me didn’t care one way or another, but out in the wastes actually working cases? It took an awful lot of convincing to get people to see me as anything other than a threat, or at best a curiosity. No one’s ever going to miss what I _am_ , no matter how I dress. But in this getup, looking at least a little like what people expect a detective to look like? It usually distracts them long enough to see I’m not there to hurt anyone.”

For a moment I tried to picture him wearing something else, but my imagination just wasn’t up to the task. Flannel, leather, denim; nothing seemed to suit him half so well as what he was wearing already. But then I caught up with what he’d said. “Usually? So there are exceptions?”

He shrugged, but it looked a little put-on to me. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit how much people’s doubt in him hurt. “I look an awful lot like those earlier synths that tend to tear whole settlements apart for scrap. It’s hard to blame folks for not being willing to give me a chance, especially if they have personal experience with one of them. They’re just scared.”

Not for the first time, I wondered where exactly his scars came from – they were more serious than simple wear and tear would explain. I’d initially taken them as the result of torture. Had I been right about that and only mistaken about whose hand had been responsible?

What had he suffered just for the sake of helping people?

What, asked a traitorous little voice in the back of my head, would he suffer for the sake of helping me?

“Anyway. You didn’t bring me down here just for breakfast and to hear me run my mouth. You said you had some news?” I’d gotten lost in my head again instead of answering him.

He had a point, even if I knew he was just changing the subject because of my awkward silence. If I wanted to hear him talk about himself more, I’d have to find a way to stay checked into the conversation.

“Yeah,” I said. “News, uh… you could say that.”

He watched me as I finished the last of the cram. What was the best way to explain what had happened?

“I had someone break into my room last night for a little chat. Said he was from the Railroad. Interrupting my sleep wasn’t the best way anyone’s ever tried to win me over, but he left this as a parting gift.” I pulled the holotape out and set it on the table between us. “There’s a recorded pitch to join up… but it’s fairly generic, and there aren’t any instructions. Makes me think they didn’t expect to be able to control who found or heard it. It’s not a hell of a lot to go on. What do you think?”

Nick picked it up to turn it over in his hand, narrowing his eyes at the label in a way that seemed an awful lot like recognition. Was the handwriting familiar to him, or had he just found one of these tapes before? How many of them were out there, across the Commonwealth?

“’Join the Railroad’, huh? Usually they go more for a nod and a wink than a midnight visit. But maybe subtlety was off the menu once we got Hancock involved. Did you get your new friend to explain what the deal was with the radio?”

I didn’t miss the fact that he had at least some familiarity with the Railroad’s operations, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. Even setting aside the fact that he was a synth himself, it was easy to imagine the concerned family of one of their recruits hiring him to find answers.

“Apparently they make a habit of feeding intel to Travis, disguised as news bits. Gets the message all through the Commonealth with hardly any risk of anyone getting shot. It’s clever… but I guess they hadn’t counted on Kellogg listening in. It’s the kind of foul-up that sounds about right for a group not used to having many allies, but it doesn’t exactly leave me feeling warm towards them.”

“Not used to having allies... that’s one way to put it. I’ve crossed paths with them a few times over the years, but it’s almost always been on their terms,” he said, leaning back into his seat. “And even if you’re lending them a hand, they’ll keep you in the dark. I guess it’s safer that way, but it’s not really a way to make friends, you know?”

Despite the fact that he seemed to have worked with them before, it didn’t sound like there was much love lost between him and them. Was it just the secrecy that bothered him? I wasn’t above keeping Nick in the dark about a few things, myself, and I couldn’t judge them based on that alone. I just didn’t want to think about him talking about me one day the way he spoke about the Railroad now.

“It’s about what I’d expect, if they really are what they say they are,” I allowed. “But even if you don’t see eye to eye with them exactly… you’d trust them? Help them?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m not glad they’re out there,” he was quick to clarify. “It’s one thing for me to make my way in the Commonwealth alone; the Institute washed their hands of me decades ago. But the gen-3s… when they escape, they’re hunted down. The Railroad tries to help get them out of the Institute's reach, and when push comes to shove I’ll help them. But let’s just say that there are reasons I tend to keep out of their way.”

The way he phrased it made two things clear to me. First, that he was sore about whatever happened, and second that whatever had happened wasn’t any of my business to pry into. I was desperately curious, but trampling a clear boundary wasn’t going to be the way into his confidence.

He turned the holotape over in his hand, examining it from every possible angle and apparently deep in thought. On the other side of the room, I could hear Charlie haranguing someone to make good on their tab.

“Hey, I just thought of something. You mind if I borrow that pip-boy of yours?” he asked suddenly, breaking my train of thought.

I unfastened it from my arm and passed it across the table to him. “Go ahead.”

He popped the tape into the deck, muted the audio, and focused his attention on the screen. From the angle I had I couldn’t quite see what he was doing with the controls, but he seemed to be shifting his weight from side to side as he worked. Once again, I was struck by how human his little habits were.

“Just like I thought,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “That recruitment pitch wasn’t the only thing on the tape. Take a look, there’s a set of coordinates buried in the metadata.” It was something that I should have thought to check, but I couldn’t even kick myself for the oversight. Getting to watch him work had been worth it – I hadn’t even suspected his knack for hacking, and he’d treated me to a personal demonstration.

He passed the pip-boy back to me and his hand grazed mine as I took it. The coordinates looked like central Boston to me, and sure enough – when I copied them onto my map, they pointed to the Commons.

* * *

Now that we knew where our next steps would take us, it was time to check in with Hancock. One of his guards showed us upstairs to wait – he was occupied with other business, apparently, and he’d be along as soon as it was settled. The way the man had chuckled suggested to me that I really didn’t want to know the details.

I spent the time trying to plot a route from Goodneighbor to the Commons out on my pip-boy. Planning ahead tended to help me to take the worst edges off my navigational woes, even with the headache that came with adjusting on the fly to take new raider camps or freshly-collapsed buildings into account.

While I worked on that, Nick opened a drawer to find a well-worn paperback with a strip of newsprint wedged in it as a bookmark before settling into the sofa beside me. I could only guess that this wasn’t the first time that he’d found himself waiting up here, and that he’d left off the last time.

The silence that fell between us was a rare, comfortable kind – not like during breakfast. It was the sort that I hadn’t been fortunate enough to share with anyone since Nora. And how long had it been, the day the bombs fell, since we’d taken the time to just sit together and enjoy each other’s company? She’d been so busy with her work and her family, and I hadn’t had much more free time myself.

We’d met by chance the summer before college – I’d left my parents’ home with little more than the clothes on my back and what had fit into the suitcase I’d stolen from their matched set. Nora had mistaken it for her own at the bus terminal, and once we’d sorted out the confusion it wasn’t long before we’d become inseparable.

Footsteps on the stairs brought me back to the present, and I blinked against the threat of tears. Grief had ebbed up once again when I’d least expected it. Nick closed his book and looked to me with a question on his face. “Just a memory,” I said. He nodded like he understood, and if Hancock hadn’t entered the room at just that moment, I think he’d would’ve tried to say something to comfort me.

Instead, he stood to put his book away – conveniently giving me cover to pull myself together.

“Well, well. You two are up bright and early, aren’t you? Have a plan all worked out and ready to share?” he said by way of greeting, sitting down in the armchair across from where I was.

“About that,” Nick started, leaning on the back of the sofa with his arms braced against it. “Turns out we had the wrong end of this thing. Vera’s… _friend…_ turned out to be from the Railroad, not the Institute.”

“So he said, anyway,” I added, before filling Hancock in about the midnight visit from the stranger whose name I’d been too addled to ask for. “My gut says he’s on the level, but that’s all the evidence I have. It’s not like either of them hands out anything as convenient as membership cards.”

Hancock’s fingers drummed against his knee. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past the Institute to drop in on you in the middle of the night, but their style tends not to involve leaving any witnesses behind to wonder about it afterwards. Either they would’ve grabbed you and disappeared without a trace, or leveled the whole town. Nothing in the middle.”

“The fact that it probably wasn’t the Institute doesn’t necessarily imply that it had to be the Railroad,” I pointed out. “And even if it was them, I’m not exactly thrilled about how they went about approaching me. The business with the radio was apparently just an accident, but it’s got a bad taste in my mouth all the same.”

“Desperate people sometimes make choices that look a little ugly from the outside,” Hancock said. Something about his tone suggested personal experience that I wasn’t privy to. “But no one got hurt, right? I’d call it water under the bridge if I were you. And anyway, if you’re chasing down the Institute then they’re the most likely to be able to point you in the right direction.”

In other words, the Railroad was my only shot. I’d come to that conclusion myself, but I was no happier for hearing him say it. “Which is why I’ll be taking them up on their invitation, once we leave here. But I have to ask you one thing, first – those people you talked to last night, on my behalf … was one of them with the Railroad?”

“You’re asking me if I told them where to find you?” He sounded insulted at the thought of it, and that alone was enough to convince me. I hadn’t actually thought he was responsible for how my visitor had found me, but I’d had to rule it out. “No. All I said to my people was to watch out for anyone on your tail. But you didn’t exactly make a secret of where you’d be spending the night, and the Rexford’s never been known for its security.”

“Which implies that they have a presence somewhere here in Goodneighbor. And you’re too good at staying on top of things here not to know about it if they do.” It was a risk to keep pressing after I’d already managed to offend him, but I was sure he had to know something about them, something I could use to get the advantage on whatever my next encounter with them would hold.

He leaned back and rubbed his hand over his face. The ancient wood of the chair groaned in complaint. “Vera. Listen carefully. As long as someone – or a group of someones – doesn’t make trouble for me, there’s a limit to how much I _need to know_ about what they’re up to. Do they pass through here? I don’t have a doubt in my mind about it. But they’re careful enough not to make themselves into a problem for me. There isn’t anything I can tell you about them.”

It wasn’t an outright denial – he’d deliberately not said whether or not there was more he knew. But the refusal to talk was clear enough. I met his eyes and nodded. “Alright. I hear you.” I didn’t think there was much more to discuss, but something seemed to occur to him when I stood to leave.

“Oh, Nick – before you two fly off, did Amari have everything you needed to patch yourself up? I got a few people I can lean on if you still need anything. You know all you gotta do is ask, right?”

I turned to look at Nick in confusion, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Who was Amari? “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m all set, no need to trouble yourself on my behalf. It was nothing more than a scratch, anyway.”

A scratch? Had he been hurt yesterday without me even noticing? I’d seen that his coat had been a little shabbier after our encounter with the Gunners, but I hadn’t stopped to ask myself why. Hancock had known, though. Had Nick told him and not me, or did Hancock just know Nick well enough to pick up on a hidden injury without him having to say anything?

And _why_ would Nick hide being injured? Did Hancock know Nick had hidden it from me? Why would he go out of his way to reveal something like that, but not tell me anything useful about the Railroad? It didn’t make any sense, no matter how I tried to explain it to myself.

Nick lead the way outside and I followed mutely. Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: he didn’t trust me. I knew that I didn’t deserve his trust, but to see proof that I didn’t have it stung for than I’d been expecting.

He didn’t say anything to me while I was trading the last of what we’d taken from the Gunners to KLE-O, or while I stopped into Daisy’s shop for another hug before we left.

But once we were beyond eavesdropping range of the gate, I signaled him to an alley where we had passable cover.

“Listen, I... it’s fair you don’t want my help with maintenance or repairs. I don’t want to imply like I’ve got a problem with what you choose for yourself. But if you can’t trust me enough to let me know when you’re hurt ... when I’m going to need to cover more for you, or get you someplace safe so you can take care of things ...”

My voice trailed off and I let out a sigh. I didn’t actually want to say it out loud – that it’d be hard to work with him as a partner. It’d have been a bluff, and a transparent one at that. Maybe the Railroad was a useful lead and maybe it wasn’t, but I knew I’d get further along Shaun’s trail with Nick at my side than without. And if push came to shove, if accepting that he wasn’t going to trust me as far as he could throw me was the price for his companionship? I’d have paid it.

“You didn’t ask,” he said plainly. “It wasn’t bad enough to slow me down, and you didn’t ask, so I didn’t think it was worth troubling you about. We had more important things to worry about than another gouge in my chassis, anyway.”

He was right. I _hadn’t_ asked if he was alright, after the fighting had stopped. I’d worried while he was out of sight, but as soon as I’d seen him after the dust cleared I’d assumed he was fine. Why hadn’t I asked? “I’m sorry,” I said, uselessly. “That – that was thoughtless of me. You risked yourself for a plan of mine you didn’t know anything about, and I didn’t even…”

“I had a partner, once,” he said, a moment after my voice trailed off. “A drunk by the name of Marty Bullfinch. Well, I say partner, but mostly we just shared an office and split the caseload. We didn’t go out into the field side by side, not the way you and I are doing. It’s… new. I guess we both have things to learn about working as a team.”

It was a kinder thing to say than I felt I deserved.

“I’ll do better,” I promised him. I couldn’t bear the thought of him just enduring another injury and thinking I wouldn’t care about it. “But – please. If I don’t notice something, if you need anything, if I’ve so much as stuck my foot in my mouth... I need you to tell me. We’re in this thing together. And maybe we don’t know each other well yet, and maybe you don’t trust easy. But I’ve got your back. Don’t ever doubt that I’ve got your back.”

He held my gaze long enough that it started to feel uncomfortable, and then nodded.

“I saw you putting your tools in with your first-aid kit, you know. I guess you wouldn’t do that if you weren’t ready to back those words of yours up,” he said. I startled and flushed – I hadn’t done that as a performance for him to notice. I’d just wanted them near at hand, just in case.

He laughed, and I smiled. Together, we began to make our way towards whatever was waiting for us at the Commons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter than usual and it took me longer than I really wanted to get it out, but here we are! 
> 
> I made a [Tumblr](https://veracityjones.tumblr.com/) for this series! I post art, screenshots, occasional meta, and various tidbits. Come say hi!
> 
> Previous chapters have been revised to weed out typos. In related news, I'm looking for a beta reader to help me catch future SPAG abominations _before_ I post. Message me on Tumblr if you're interested!


	9. Chapter 9

My effort plotting out a route between Goodneighbor and the Commons had turned out to be a waste of time. Someone had gone through the effort of painting over the old Freedom Trail, leading us right to the trailhead itself. As the tourguide Protectron droned on about local history, I studied the hand-painted sign propped up against the fountain.

Had it, or the paint on the road, been here when I’d gone down into Park Street Station? Would I have noticed if it had? I had an awful habit of being oblivious to what was right in front of me, especially when I had other things on my mind. Selling my cover story to Malone had seemed close to my last hope just over a week ago, and I just couldn't summon a memory of what the park had looked like then. 

“Neither of them were here when I went down to visit Skinny, I can tell you that much,” Nick said when I asked him about it. He knelt to scratch a finger against the paint. It was completely dry, and it chipped up readily. “So we’re looking at the paint being laid down anywhere from three weeks ago to maybe the day before yesterday.”

Painting a guideline through the city seemed like a huge risk to take for an organization as secretive as the Railroad. The timing was suspiciously close, but it ruled out the possibility that it’d been done specifically for my sake. Something had made them both desperate enough to roll out the red carpet for anyone who happened to find it _and_ to send me an invitation. I still didn't know how I'd been found out in Goodneighbor. 

“You said they usually go for the subtle route,” I said, turning the thought over in my head. “This seems pretty far from a wink and a nod. Wouldn’t using the Freedom Trail be a little obvious to anyone with an ax to grind against them? It’s a little bit on the nose.”

“For you, maybe it seems obvious,” he said, turning his attention to the round plaque embedded in the sidewalk. It bore the same red paint as the street. “But history education isn't what it used to be before the war, no matter how hard Zwicky tries. There aren’t a hell of a lot of folks left who’d remember what the original Freedom Trail was about, other than you and me and a few ghouls.“

But _he_ knew. Had the Institute loaded him up with historical reference data when they’d made him? That might explain knowing about the old Freedom Trail in the first place, but it wouldn’t explain how he’d known enough about pre-war education to offer up an opinion on how standards had fallen. Holofilms could explain fashion, sure, and maybe even the way he spoke. But they didn't even begin explain the things I didn't know about him, and my imagination failed to supply any answer that fit better.

* * *

The Freedom Trail had once been one of Boston’s more famous tourist attractions, leading through the oldest parts of the city and highlighting a selection of historic sites. I hadn’t grown up in the metro area itself, but we’d been close enough that I’d been been subjected to more than one field trip to walk its length in my school years. And a weak grasp of direction didn’t mean there was anything wrong with my memory. The end of the trail should have been the Bunker Hill monument.

“I don’t like it.” I crossed my arms and stared at the lantern on the doorstep of the Old North Church. The white painted symbol just above it made it clear that we were supposed to enter. “The sign at the Commons said to go to journey’s end. But the Old North Church isn’t the end of the Freedom Trail. So why set up here? It doesn’t make sense.”

Nick gave me a sidelong look. “It’s not like they could just take over Bunker Hill. The caravans have been using that place for years, and as far as I know the Railroad co-opting the Freedom Trail is a new development. You said that your visitor the other night told you things have been bad for them lately. This might not exactly be their first choice of locale..”

It was reasonable enough when he said it, but something about the setup still felt fishy to me. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to scout this place out a little before I make up my mind.” He seemed a little frustrated, but followed along as I began to circle the building.

Maybe Nick was right. But I couldn’t ignore the lurking sense that something about this wasn’t right, that there was something I wasn’t seeing. Even if the Railroad itself was legitimate, it would be trivial for the Institute to set up a sting operation. Make a nice, clear path for synths and sympathetic humans alike to follow, let the typical post-war hazards of downtown take care of the unlucky ones, and lure the survivors into a secure trap. The escapees could be hauled back to the Institute without fuss, and the humans trying to join the Railroad’s ranks could be simply eliminated. Cold and efficient – the way I expected them to operate.

I didn’t trust the man who’d put me onto this path, but my gut told me that he wasn’t an Institute operative. It had been the only claim of his that I was willing to take at face value. So assuming for a moment that he really was with the Railroad, and they really did route potential recruits along the Freedom Trail to the church – why? What had made them so desperate within the past few weeks?

* * *

I didn’t find anything out of place with the exterior of the building itself or with any of the ones surrounding it. But despite that, I couldn’t convince myself to go inside without at least trying to learn more. It took some scrambling and some scrapes, but I found a way up to the rooftop of an adjacent building. From there, I could see a single lantern in the steeple.

“One if by land, huh,” Nick mused, gazing at it. “I guess that means they know we’re here. What do you think we’re going to accomplish sitting up here that we couldn't by just knocking on the door?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, settling into a corner where I had a good view of both the steeple and the doorstep. We were starting to lose the light of the afternoon, and the shadows were getting deep. “Am I just being paranoid, Nick?”

He took a seat at my side, set his hat beside himself, and leaned his head against the wall. “That's one word for it, maybe. And maybe you’re being sensibly cautious. This is your case, and you’re the only one that can make the final call. Me? I’d probably just go in and let what happens, happen. But with how we met… you already know that doesn’t always work out for me.”

I couldn’t help laughing, just a little. “Oh, I don’t know. You got a new partner out of that deal, didn’t you?”

He smiled at me. “I did, at that. Jury’s still out on how much of a detective she’ll turn out to be, but it sure beats traveling alone.”

We sat there together watching the church as the sun set and the stars came out. A flock of birds circled overhead of us for a while before moving on and a passing raider gang blundered into a nest of ferals, but other than that there was nothing much to see.

* * *

I woke with a start and sat bolt upright. When had I fallen asleep? Nick’s arm, which had apparently been around my shoulders, slipped away and I realized that I was warmer than I would have been if I’d slept on the roof’s surface. Why had he allowed me to sleep leaned up against him like that?

“Shit,” I muttered, scrambling away to give him space. There were some things more important than my questions. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know when I dropped off. I didn’t mean to –“

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting me off firmly. “I can go all night without any shut-eye, but you need your rest and you sure didn't get enough the night before last. I kept watch for you, but I don’t have much to report. It was a quiet night.”

Even if it’d been unintentional, I’d pushed up against a very clear boundary he’d drawn – no touching. The way he'd flinched away before was seared into my memory. “You didn’t have to make yourself uncomfortable for my sake, Nick. I wouldn’t have minded using my bag as a pillow. I’ve done it often enough.”

He turned his face away, but from the line of his cheeks it almost looked like he was smiling. “I said it was fine, didn’t I? Just forget about it. You make your mind up about whether or not we’re going in?”

I didn’t understand.

Had I just looked too pathetic and tired for him to have the heart to disturb? But he wouldn’t have had to put an arm around me if that was the case – and it wouldn’t have been a cause to smile. There was clearly something I'd misunderstood, but even I could take the hint that he wanted to change the subject. 

Standing to stretch, I made my way over to the edge of the rooftop. Despite the complaints of my neck, I had to admit that I'd slept well. Something about the warmth, maybe, or the almost imperceptible sound of his inner machinery.

“I still don’t know what I think about all this,” I admitted, pushing those thoughts away. "I thought I’d see something to make my mind up, or that I’d realize something that’d make it all click into place. That didn’t happen. We’re exactly where we were yesterday.”

“You’d have to be awfully lucky for a one-night stakeout to yield anything useful,” Nick said, amused. ”Especially with how obvious you were about casing the joint. Somehow, I don’t get the feeling that subtlety is your middle name.”

Maybe it’d have been better if I’d tried sneaking up on the place. But the steeple was higher than most of the other buildings around. If they’d had someone posted up there, there was little chance I’d have been able to get close unnoticed.

Even now, I still didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of entering the church. But either I could choose to trust the information I had and meet with them on their terms, or I could walk away. There wasn’t any middle ground.

“Well,” I said, after we’d climbed down off of the rooftop. “If it is an Institute trap, at least it would mean getting a little closer to the bastards. I… I won’t blame you if you’d rather sit this one out and wait for me. I can't imagine you're eager for a reunion.”

“What, and leave my partner out to dry? I don’t even have you broken in yet,” he teased, earning something like a laugh from me. There was a way he had a way of lifting my mood just when I needed it. “For the record, I think you’re being a little too paranoid about this thing. But even if it turns out you’re right… well, you said it yourself. We’re in this thing together, and I’m not going to let you face it alone.”

* * *

The building, like most of Boston’s less active corners, was home to a number of feral ghouls.

We had tried to enter quietly, but the creaking floorboards woke them from their rest and they rushed at us from the pews, from behind the collapsed pipe organ, and from the upper gallery. Although we were outnumbered, Nick and I didn’t have much trouble clearing them out – I blasted at their legs with my shotgun, and he finished them off once they were reduced to crawling.

Some welcome. If this was meant to be a trap, whoever had set it up didn’t seem to think much of us. And if it hadn’t been for the graffiti lanterns here and there around the hall, I would have guessed that the place hadn’t seen any activity other than that of the ghouls since the war.

It wasn’t until we reached the steeple that we saw any sign of recent activity. We had seen the lantern from across the street, but I’d only been guessing about the sniper rifle.

I picked it up. It was unusually well-maintained by wasteland standards, and when I lined up the scope I noticed that it wasn’t even clouded or cracked.

Someone took care of their toys, and we’d been within their sights the entire night.

They’d seen us watching them. What had they thought about us? The fact that they hadn’t eliminated us there said something, but I wasn’t sure what. And why had they left the rifle up here? Surely they’d expect us to explore the building if we survived the ferals. Was it some kind of message? I shook my head and set it down.

Speculating like this wouldn’t get me anywhere. We had searched the entire building, and all that was left to do was to head into the basement.

I remembered from a long-past visit that it served as a crypt, and so it was little surprise that it was just as full of ghouls as the church above had been – for some reason I didn’t understand ferals seemed to congregate where the dead had been laid to rest. My first time taking a shortcut through a graveyard had been an education. 

The narrow corridor made it impossible for us to move forward side by side or use the same strategy we had upstairs, and the number of alcoves to the sides meant that we were ambushed more than once passing through.

“If the Railroad is really using this place, why didn’t they clear it out when they moved in?” I asked. “I can’t imagine they all just sneak by every time they have to run out for supplies, or to re-light the lanterns, or man the sniper nest in the steeple.”

“Well,” Nick started, before pausing to shoot a feral I hadn’t noticed approaching. “You have to admit, a security force that doesn’t need to be fed and that can’t be bribed could be considered a bonus… if you have another way to get in and out. But this part of Boston’s always been lousy with old tunnels. If you didn’t mind a little excavation, you could probably find a viable route anywhere you needed to get to.”

If that was the case, it meant that the Railroad was content to run their recruits through a potentially fatal gauntlet just to meet them. And how did the synth escapees get to them, anyway? Did they have to follow the same route, alone and possibly unarmed? How many had died in the attempt?

“Convenient or not, it seems strange.” The Railroad had been operating out of this location for a maximum of three weeks. “Are we the first ones to try and enter through the front door? Or do they have a way of luring more ferals in whenever the last batch get taken out by the recruits that come through?”

“I guess if you had a Mr. Handy wave a bit of rotten meat at them it wouldn’t be impossible to lead them anywhere you like,” he allowed. “But ferals living outside always look more ragged than those that’ve been locked up since they turned, and all the ones we’ve seen in here seem unusually well turned out. Like they heard the sirens and took the time to put on their Sunday best before heading here and waiting for the end. I think we’re the first ones to come through this way.”

Or at the very least, we were the first to get this far. The thought left me chilly.

The catacombs ended abruptly at a wall with a circular bronze plaque embedded in it. It was identical to those that had marked out the trail, all except for the wires that disappeared into the brickwork – and it was missing the codes that had been painted onto the ones on the streets above. It was obviously some kind of input mechanism, which suggested that we’d find something interesting on the other side.

Nick pressed his ear to the wall for a moment and then pulled away with a shrug. “I can’t tell what’s back there. Could be a draft; could be whispering. My hearing might be a bit better than yours, but there are limits.”

I touched the plaque and found that it was set into a groove. It rotated when I tried it, and I suddenly understood what the meaning of the painted code had been. Letter by letter, I entered the password. When I was done, something distant began a mechanical clicking before a whole section of brickwork slid away.

There was a candle on the ground a few feet beyond, but the shadows swallowed up its light – I couldn’t see anything else ahead. Whether we were about to meet the Railroad or the Institute, I’d committed the both of us when I’d chosen to enter the church. I glanced sideways at Nick and he nodded at me. We walked into the darkness together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a [ Tumblr ](https://veracityjones.tumblr.com/)for this series! I post art, screenshots, occasional meta, and various tidbits. Come say hi!


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